


Then I'd Be Another Memory

by Kellyscams



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Adult Content, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexual Clint Barton, Awesome Clint Barton, Beards (Relationships), Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Bucky Barnes Feels, Closeted Character, Coming Out, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, Falling In Love, Gay Bucky Barnes, Homophobic Language, M/M, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Natasha Romanov, Rating May Change, Recreational Drug Use, Sexism, Slow Burn, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Top Steve Rogers, Underage Drinking, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2020-03-17 19:13:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 120,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18971335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kellyscams/pseuds/Kellyscams
Summary: Seventeen-year-old Bucky Barnes has it all. He’s the captain of the basketball team, has a great social life, his choice of ivy league schools, and was just announced as his class’s valedictorian. Senior year is going perfectly. Until he gets assigned to be a peer mediator to Steve Rogers – one of their class’s biggest trouble makers who doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut and goes around picking fights with everyone.The last thing Bucky needs is to get mixed up with Steve and his pretty blue eyes and soft blonde hair and heart-melting smile. Even if it turns out he’s not quite what Bucky’s thought all this time. Even if maybe someone just needs to listen to Steve’s side of the story. Even if Steve’s heart is so much bigger than Bucky could have ever imagined. Because Steve Rogers is so not worth becoming friends with.Again. Bucky learned that lesson years ago.Unfortunately, there are some things that Bucky just can’t control. Steve Rogers – and the way Bucky feels about him – is one of them.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> in which games of Capture the Flag are life-altering.

The stakes are high. Everything comes down to these last decisions. One wrong move and it’s all downhill. So many people are counting on him. They’re all watching him, too. So many eyes. Waiting for him to just hurry up and pick. It’s a lot of pressure for one person. Especially a ten-year-old. 

“We got Wilson,” Bucky declares. 

Sam pumps his fist in the air and jogs over to join Bucky’s team. So far Bucky’s enlisted Tasha, Jim, Gabe, Maria, and Dum-Dum. To the left of them, Rhodey is picking Wanda to add to his roster of Clint -- totally an unfair move, too, cause Rhodey knows Bucky _always_ picks Tasha and Clint first -- Tony, Pepper, Pietro, Peggy, and Bruce. The last two people standing are Brock Rumlow and Gilmore Hodge. Neither of these choices is good. Bucky doesn't really like either of them so Bucky doesn’t really _want_ Brock, but he’s super hard to tag and everyone knows Capture the Flag is some serious business. Which leave Hodge for Rhodey's team.

The playground is pretty packed today. Not unusual since it’s probably one of the last really nice days of fall, and Halloween is coming soon so there are pumpkins and hay and stuff around the fences. The sun is shining brightly and there’s not a cloud in the sky. But Bucky’s parents still made him go to the park with a jacket. He’s tossed it on some bench where it’ll wait for him to remember -- hopefully -- to fetch it when the games are over. Other kids -- the little kids -- are a bit more bundled up. Some even forced into a hat and a pair of gloves. 

“Okay, okay,” Rhodey says when the teams are all picked. Nine on nine. A perfect even playing field. “So we all know that _that_ side of the middle pier” -- he points to the far end of the playground -- “is _our_ side. And everything on _this_ side is Bucky’s.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Clint mumbles. “Do we really gotta go through this _every_ time?”

“That’s because _some_ people try to _cheat_ , Clint,” Tasha says. Eyebrows raising. Cause everyone knows that Clint will feign ignorance on boundary lines if he can get away with it. “Right?”

“I do not cheat!” 

“You do, too,” Bucky replies. He pulls a red sock out of his back pocket. He raises it up. “S’our flag.”

“ _Ew_ ,” Pietro exclaims. Backs up a few steps and pinches his nose closed. “I’m not touching that!”

“It’s clean!” Bucky insists. He twirls the sock in circles. “But if ya really don’t wanna touch it I guess you can’t capture it.”

“Pietro, just grab the sock if you can,” Rhodey insists.

“The _flag_ ,” Bucky corrects. “Where’s yours?”

Rhodey takes the cap off his head. It’s a Met’s cap. Gross. Well, fair is fair. Bucky decided on a sock today. But it really is clean. 

They go over the boundaries one more time and decide their bases -- the twisty slide for Rhodey’s team, the broken water fountain for Bucky’s. Jails for both teams are on the opposite ends of the play equipment. Under the first platforms on either end. Anyone tagged has to go sit under there until either the end of the game or if there’s a jailbreak -- one of their teammates coming to fetch them without getting caught themselves. 

There’s a bit of a debate over whether or not jailbreakers are allowed to cross back to their side safely after freeing their teammates. Pietro insists that they aren’t safe -- he’s so fast he wouldn’t complain about that anyway -- while Brock argues that they should be. Bucky agrees with Pietro but just lets the others argue it out. In the end, the decision is that they’re _not_ safe and can still be tagged while the others can cross back freely.

Once they hammer out all the details -- some serious fourth and fifth-grade business -- they all agree that whoever gets the other team’s respective flag back to their own home base first wins. 

“Good, so then we’re gonna play now?” Dum-Dum asks. 

“Yup,” Rhodey answers. “Everyone ready?”

“Maria!” Everyone looks over to where Ms. Hill is standing. “Come on, we gotta go!”

“Aw, Mom!” Maria grunts. “We didn’t even get’ta play!”

Maria’s mom tells her they have to go to her grandmother’s house and, by her mom-tone, everyone knows it leaves no room to complain. With a mumbled apology to everyone, Maria stomps away to be taken to her grandmother’s. Which leaves a problem. Bucky’s now left with one less player.

“Do you wanna still play?” Bruce asks. “Is there anyone else?”

Bucky glances around the park. Most of the kids are too little to play with them. The rest are too old and won’t want to anyway. Just when he’s about to consider this the most unfair thing ever, Bucky spots someone. Sitting by himself on the benches by the swings. Notebook in his lap and pencil running over the page. Little Steve Rogers. 

He cups his hands over his mouth and shouts, “Hey! Steve!” Steve looks up at the sound of his name, the shaggy bangs of his golden hair brushing just below his eyebrows. He pushes them out of the way. “C’mere!”

“Oh, _man_ ,” Brock grumbles. Of course. “Why do’ya always gotta pick him?”

Brock thinks Steve is a loser. So do a bunch of other kids. It’s cause he’s real little and he has these glasses that sorta slip down his nose and he wears hearing aids and has to go to the nurse every day after lunch to take medicine or something. His hair is kind of a bit too shaggy and he always has band-aids on his elbows and his knees cause he’s always falling down. Also, he’s allergic to peanuts so no one in class is allowed to have peanut butter. Steve just moved into Bucky’s class a few weeks ago after being homeschooled his whole life. He’s even supposed to be in the fourth grade but was allowed to skip to the fifth. Well, that’s what their teacher says anyway.

“Shut up, Brock,” Bucky scoffs as Steve makes his way over. “Don’t be a butthead.”

Bucky sits next to Steve in class and he _doesn’t_ think Steve is a loser. Which is why he picks him in gym and to work on their group projects and asked him to sit together at their lunch table. Because Steve might be real little and has glasses that sorta slip down his nose and wears hearing aids and has to go to the nurse every day after lunch to take medicine or something, but Bucky thinks he’s the nicest guy in the world. Steve split his lunch with Natasha when she forgot hers. He uses sign language with Clint who doesn’t _wear_ his hearing aids, but really should. And best of all, Steve Rogers _screamed_ at Brock Rumlow for tripping a fourth grader in the hall. 

Sure, Steve might be kinda quiet sometimes, but Bucky thinks he’s one of the coolest people ever.

“Hi, Bucky,” Steve greets when he reaches them. 

The sleeves of his sweatshirt -- which looks a little too big on him -- are pushed up as far as they can go. Sure enough, Steve has band-aids on his elbows. 

“Heya, Steve,” Bucky answers. Then gestures to all his friends. “You guys know Steve, right?” There’s a mix of responses. Most of his friends simply nod and say yes or say hi to Steve. Brock and Gilmore moan. “We’re playin’ Capture the Flag. You wanna be on my team?”

Pushing his glasses back up a bit, Steve’s big, blue eyes look around at the group. He twists his lips and gives a little shrug.

“I don’t gotta,” he says. “It’s okay.”

“Yeah, see?” Gilmore huffs. “He can’t do it anyway.”

Bucky watches Steve’s face grow hard. Lips setting in a line and jaw clenching. Almost his whole face turns red.

“I didn’t say I _couldn’t_ do it,” he bites back. 

“Yeah, see?” Bucky uses Gilmore’s own words. “He can do it. Right, Stevie?”

“Yeah.” He gives a stiff nod. “I can do it.”

“Steve’s on my team!” Bucky declares. 

No one comments when Brock mutters, “Can I switch teams?”

First running over the rules of how they play and who goes where, Bucky walks alongside Steve as they make their way over to their base.

“Don’t worry about Brock and them guys,” he says. “They’re jerks.”

“I ain’t worried about them,” Steve grumbles. But Bucky’s pretty sure he’s lying through his teeth. “They’re buttheads.”

Bucky chuckles and nudges Steve with his elbow. He gets a big smile for that and Steve no longer looks so glum. 

Though he’d like to spend a bit more time chatting with Steve, once the game is officially called to a start, Bucky is determined to get the other team’s flag and takes off across the playground. After that, he doesn’t even _see_ Steve. 

Bucky loves this. Loves running so hard his lungs feel like they’re going to burst and his cheeks are pink and his hair smells like the wind. The best part about playing on the playground is the full use of all the equipment. They get to run up the slides and over the plastic bridges and slide down the poles as they attempt to steal the other team’s flag. There’s dodging other kids and crawling under the platforms as Bucky tries to find a clear path while also tagging the enemies. 

Every time Bucky’s tried to cross over into Rhodey’s side, he’s been spotted. With a squeal of laughter, he’s luckily gotten back over to his own side just in time. He can see a few of his teammates have been jailed. Dum-Dum and Monty and Jim and Gabe. The rest of his team is scattered about. Some he knows where. Tasha has just made it back to their side safely after being chased away by Wanda. Brock is lingering by their flag even though he’s totally _not_ supposed to actually guard it like that. Sam just tagged Tony so that adds him to their jail with Pepper and Bruce and Pietro. 

Taking a moment for strategy planning, Bucky tries to find the best way he can get to Rhodey’s flag. If he can make it across the entire span of the equipment without getting caught, he just _might_ be able to slide straight down the twisty slide and snag the hat underneath it. 

That’s the plan. Bucky sucks in a deep breath and goes for it. He sprints up the metal ladder and hoists up to the second highest platform where he’s able to sprint through the first plastic tube undetected by enemy forces. Bucky hustles over the bridge and _almost_ crashes into some little girl but manages to keep the collision from happening. He even makes it to the slide. And when he’s going down, a hand reaches over the side and tags his arm.

“Gotchya!” Clint laughs as Bucky clammers off the slide. “Go to jail!”

“Aw, c’mon, Clint!” Bucky whines. He’d say something about guarding the not being allowed, but since he’s pretty sure Brock is doing the same thing he has no real argument to make. “I thought you were my best friend!”

“There are no friends in Capture the Flag!” he says. Then tosses his head back to give Bucky a very loud and very strange evil laugh. 

Bucky snorts with a roll of his eyes and trudges over to the jail with Dum-Dum, Monty, Gabe, and Jim. They all give him unhappy welcomes as Bucky plops down there with them. 

“I was _so_ close,” Bucky huffs. Pinches his fingers together. “Like _that_ close!”

“And now you’re in here with us, too, Sarge!” Dum-Dum pretends to sob and tosses his arm around Bucky’s shoulders. “What do we _do_? How will we ever get out of here?”

Laughing, Bucky shoves him off as Monty, Gabe, and Jim give him playful slaps all over. Dum-Dum ends up doubled over in laughter as he covers himself. 

“Just give Tasha a few minutes,” Bucky assures them. “I bet she’ll--”

“Hey!”

Bucky nearly screams when Steve Rogers’ head is suddenly hanging upside down just inches from his face. Big, cheesy smile on his mouth as he shouts his greeting and his glasses _almost_ fall off. 

“Steve!” Bucky laughs. “How the heck did you get here?”

“I’m small,” he comments. “No one ever pays attention to me. You wanna jailbreak?”

He extends his hand out to Bucky. All Bucky has to do is grab it and as long as the rest of them make a human chain, they all get to bust free. Once the last one is out from under the platform and they’re all touching somehow, Steve’ll have successfully broken them out of jail. 

“Look at this guy!” Gabe exclaims as the chain forms. “Steve Rogers to the rescue!”

“We taking this guy, too?” Dum-Dum asks as he nods to Jim. “Mr. _Queens_ over here?”

“Oh, come on!” Jim grabs onto Dum-Dum’s shoulder as they exit their jailed area. “I moved here _five_ years ago! When are you gonna let it go?”

“Hey, I think _Steve_ should be captain next time, Bucky!” Monty teases. “All our leader did was get caught!”

“Hey!” Bucky squeaks. Now that they’re all out from the jail, he turns to help Steve down from the platform he was pretty carelessly hanging from. “Shut up.”

They gotta get back quickly. The quicker they get back to their side, the quicker they can try to get back over here to get the flag. Plus, Steve isn’t off limits like the rest of them are right now. Bucky gives him a gentle push to get going and they all start running. 

“Jailbreak!” Bucky yells as per their rules. 

Dum-Dum pumps a fist in the air as they all race for their side again, screaming, “Wahoo!” as they go.

It only takes a few steps for Bucky to realize that Steve, in no way, can really keep up with them. So Bucky lags behind. On purpose. Tells the rest of them to get back and he slows his pace to stay with Steve. 

They’re almost to their side. The others have already started coming back over and some more of Rhodey’s team is in jail. Steve is just a few steps behind him and once they cross back together his team will be whole again. Bucky is just about to throw his arms up in victory of their jailbreak when he hears the unmistakable sound of a body slamming into the ground and a muffled grunt just a second after. 

Bucky skids to a halt and spins around. Horrified to see Steve sprawled out on the concrete. His glasses have fallen off and landed a few feet in front of him. A crack runs through the right lens. And Gilmore is right behind him. Smirking. _Glad_ to see Steve down. Bucky’s not quite sure what happens then. He just knows that he’s suddenly _shoving_ Gilmore back as hard as he can and he’s _never_ gotten into a fight before but he just might today.

“Hey!” Bucky roars. “Pick on someone your own size!”

Gilmore pushes him back. A few people start yelling for time out and the next thing Bucky knows everyone is running over to them. And of course, Brock reaches them first. 

“I didn’t do nothin’!” Gilmore says. “It’s not my fault he’s a shrimp.”

Bucky glances back down at Steve. He’s sitting up now, left knee bent and cupped in both his hands. His face is red and pinched and there’re tears gathered in his eyes but he’s trying so hard to blink them away. Like letting anyone see him cry will cause him more pain than he’s in now. 

“You did that on purpose!” Bucky accuses. He knows he did. He _knows_ it. 

“Did not,” Gilmore grunts. 

“If he’s that big baby,” Brock states, “then maybe he just shouldn’t play with us.”

“Shut _up_ , Brock,” Bucky grumbles. “Why do ya have to be so mean? You guys are such--”

“It’s okay, Bucky.” Steve is picking himself up off the ground. He’s not looking down, but he’s not quite looking up either. “He tagged me. I’m out. S’no big deal.”

“But, Steve…”

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” Someone hands Steve his glasses. Steve runs his forearm across his eyes before slipping them back on. “I’ll jus’ go to jail. S’fine.”

“Yeah, see?” Brock says. “C’mon, let’s finish playing.”

He and Gilmore go to do just that. Both of them moving back to their sides. A few others pay no mind to what happened and join them. After another moment, the others go as well, and without another word, Steve trudges over to the jail. Sits down and keeps rubbing his fingers under his eyes. The only ones left with Bucky are Tasha and Clint.

“What happened, James?” Tasha asks. 

“He _pushed_ him!” Bucky growls. “Gilmore didn’t tag Steve, he pushed him.”

“Really, really pushed him?” Clint questions. “Cause Steve is…”

“He _pushed_ him, Clint.”

Tasha doesn’t need any more convincing than that. She’s been Bucky’s very best friend in the whole wide world and has been since pre-k when they had a thumb-war during all of recess cause they couldn’t declare a winner. The Great Pre-k Thumb-War Debate still goes on till this day. Natasha Romanoff doesn’t trust a lot of people, but she does trust Bucky. And is now storming in the direction Gilmore went.

“Nat, no!” Clint grabs her shoulder and pulls her back. “You’ll get in trouble again!”

He’s probably right. Cause Bucky knows exactly what Tasha will do if she gets to Gilmore. Kick him. Kick him right between the legs because Gilmore pushed Steve down and that wasn’t nice and Tasha doesn’t like it when people aren’t nice to other people. Especially someone like Gilmore Hodge. But Clint is right. Tasha will probably get in trouble. Grown-ups are always doing dumb things like that. Telling their kids to do the right thing and stand up for each other but -- Bucky guesses -- they should only do that with certain people or the right people or something like that since they get in trouble for defending each other anyway. 

“Let’s beat him then,” Tasha suggests. “If I can’t kick ‘im in the nuts--” leave the classy to Tasha “--then we gotta win.”

“I vote yes,” Clint agrees. 

Turns out there _are_ friends in Capture the Flag. Bucky’s not all that surprised. Natasha might be Bucky’s best friend in the whole wide world, but Clint is his other best friend in the whole wide world. 

The plan is pretty simple to come up with and the almost the whole team is in on it. Except Brock. He’s been concentrating on getting people out and sorta trash talking them as he chases them back to their side. But after Steve got them out of jail, Dum-Dum, Jim, Monty, and Gabe are _so_ not okay with what Gilmore did. They believe Bucky too. They may have just escaped from jail, but they’re willing to go back in to win this thing anyway. 

And, in the words of Dum-Dum, they’re _not prepared to let their honorary captain’s sacrifice be in vain._

Since they’ve got a few of Rhodey’s team in jail anyway, everyone except Bucky’s just gonna rush across the lines. _Altogether._ Clint, Bucky knows, won’t be doing much than pretending to try to stop them. Probably get in his own teammates way so they can’t. They’ll leave Brock behind to guard like he’s been doing while Bucky tries to slip in during all the chaos and get the flag. If all goes to plan, he’ll get it back safely to home base before getting caught. It’ll be a dangerous and difficult solo mission. Once Bucky has the flag, the rest of Rhodey’s team is free to cross into Bucky’s land. But if he does it -- if he can sneak across enemy lines, capture their precious flag, and bring it back to home base -- it’ll be so worth it. 

“For Steve!” Monty murmurs when the plan is agreed upon.

They slap their hands in a group high five and waste no more time. Everyone sprints at the same moment. Headed back over the lines with battle cries of the best soldiers ever. 

“Wahoo!” Dum-Dum cries again.

“What the hell, guys!” Brock hollers after them. No one pays him any attention.

The war is in full force. What’s left of Rhodey’s team -- including Rhodey himself -- is caught totally by surprise. They all scramble about trying to keep them from getting to the twisty slide -- Clint doing exactly what Bucky thought he’d do -- while Bucky himself slips in while everyone is distracted. 

His feet hit heavy on the ground as he charges towards the slide. Out of the corners of his eyes, he tries to keep track of anyone trying to come at him from the side. No one’s noticed him yet. The coast is clear. 

It still is when he gets to the slide. Bucky takes a quick glimpse over his shoulder before practically _diving_ onto the stinky ol’ Mets’ cap. Once it’s secured in his hands, Bucky rolls from out behind the slide and takes off for home base. 

“Barnes!” Rhodey yells. “Barnes’ got the flag!”

Wanda comes at him from right. Rhodey is charging from the left. There are too many people in the way. Bucky’s not gonna make it. 

“Bucky!”

It’s Sam. Having just dodged being tagged by Gilmore. Since he’s ahead of him, Bucky can toss him the hat. Which he does and then sprints forward when Wanda and Rhodey change their course and go after Sam. Bucky can do this. He knows he can. Sam is gonna get caught. Everyone is focused on him now. So if Bucky can just _squeak_ by him, Sam can hand the hat back off to him. 

“On your left!” Bucky calls just as he approaches. “Sam!”

Perfect timing. Sam doesn’t get the chance to look, but he tosses the hat up to Bucky _just_ as Bucky zips by him. Hat in his hands again, Bucky knows this is it. All of Rhodey’s team, what’s left of it, can follow him back over to his side. Which they have. 

His own teammates that are left follow behind. Bucky can hear them beginning to cheer for him. Encouraging him to get there quickly. _Go, Bucky! Go, go!_ they shout. 

Bucky can feel someone coming up behind him. They’re so close. But Bucky’s almost at the water fountain. He reaches out. All that’s left is…

“Yes!” Bucky shouts as his hand slaps down on the spout of the fountain. “Yes, yes!”

Ear-to-ear smiles pull up on Bucky’s face. He pumps the hand holding the cap in the air. All of Rhodey’s team groan -- Gilmore kicks the dirt and gripes that they cheated -- while Bucky’s team runs over to him cheering. 

There’s laughing and hugs and high fives. They jump up and down and laugh and congratulate each other. Tasha pulls Bucky in for a hug. Sam slaps him on the back. His little jailbreak crew lifts him up. Wobbly and unsteady until they put him down. 

It’s a time to celebrate. It’s not every day one wins a war. Today is their day, though. In good 

sportsmanship, Rhodey, and his team -- except for Gilmore who’s gone off to sulk -- joins them and demands a rematch while giving them congratulations. 

It’s so much fun. Except something is missing. Or, more to the point, some _one_ is missing.

Bucky glances around when he realizes he doesn’t see Steve. Which doesn’t make sense. The game is over. And if it wasn’t for him getting Bucky and the others out of jail, they probably wouldn’t have won. Still, Steve isn’t with them and he totally should be. Bucky peers over at the jail where he last saw the kid. Nothing. It’s empty. 

Most of his friends are still celebrating. Some of them are trying to decide on a new game to play -- Gilmore and Brock have already left with two other guys that Bucky doesn’t really like either, good riddance. Bucky slips away from all of them to go on another important mission. To locate Steve.

Since they’re all convened around the water fountain, Bucky needs to cross the entire playground searching for him. Instead of running across it like he’s been doing all afternoon, Bucky takes his time. Looking on the equipment and under the equipment and around the equipment as he tries to find Steve. 

It’s getting a little colder now in the late afternoon. A chill runs over Bucky. Maybe it was a good thing his mom shoved him in a jacket before he left. Now all he needs to do is remember which bench he put it on. Which isn’t so easy to do when he’s been at the park all day and had a battle to take care of. 

He does find it though. And in doing so, spots Steve. He’s on one of the swings and, from what Bucky can see, fussing with his knee. Man, if that Gilmore really banged him up maybe Bucky _should_ ask Tasha to kick him between the legs. Or maybe Bucky should just punch him in the face. 

“Stevie,” Bucky calls as he walks around the fence towards the swings. “Where’d ya go? You missed the celebration!”

When Steve looks up, he looks a little startled and stops fiddling with his knee, but he _does_ leave his hand over it. Or tries to. Steve is small enough that his feet don’t _quite_ reach the ground. Instead, his toes skim along it. So Bucky can see the rip in Steve’s pants. And the band-aid that he’s tried to put on. One side is folded in on itself and it’s not exactly over the dirty scrape on his knee. 

“You want help with that?”

“Nuh-ah,” Steve mumbles. “I can do it myself.”

“I see that.” Bucky bites his lip when Steve glares at him. “No, really! I know you can do it. But maybe I can help a little. Please?”

Steve seems to mull over whether or not he should accept Bucky’s help which Bucky hopes he does cause his knee looks a little dirty and since Bucky’s mom always makes him go to the park with these tiny moisty nap things, he can clean it for Steve. 

“Okay,” Steve mutters. 

He lifts his hand away from his knee and glowers when half the band-aid falls off. Crouching down in front of him, Bucky peels the other half off. Like he thought, there’s dirt around it. In fact, there’s a ton of dirt on Steve’s fingertips and even a patch of it at the side of his nose. Kinda looks like a big, dark freckle. Steve’s got a trail over them running across his nose. Bucky takes out one of the packets his mom sent him off with and opens it up. 

“This might sting a little bit,” he warns. Dabs at Steve’s knee with the towelette and Steve hisses. “Sorry.” Steve doesn’t make another sound as Bucky cleans up his knee. “You got another band-aid?”

“Uh-ha.” Steve’s already reaching into his back pocket and hands a fresh band-aid to Bucky. 

Taking it, Bucky carefully tears it open and peels the backings off. He applies the band-aid over Steve’s knee and when he’s finished, he gives it a quick peck.

“There ya go.” He pats Steve’s thigh and rises to his feet. “All better.” 

Steve, who had been focused on bending and straightening his knee, smiles at him. It’s small and a little shy, but he smiles. Then pushes his glasses up his nose more since they've started slipping again.

“Thanks, Bucky,” he says and then pushes back with his toes to get his swing moving. 

The swing next to Steve happens to be free. Blind stinking luck since the swings are always being used, but maybe it’s because it’s later in the afternoon now. Whatever the reason, the swing is empty and Bucky plops down on it and starts rocking it.

“So how come you left?” he asks again. “We couldn’t’ve won without ya.”

This time, he gets an answer. First, a quick shrug of Steve’s shoulder and a twist of his lips. Next, something of an explanation.

“No one wanted me there anyways.”

“That ain’t true,” Bucky says. “I wanted ya there.”

Steve doesn’t say anything this time, but Bucky’s pretty sure he smiles again as he pumps faster to get himself higher.

“You like to go up high?” Steve questions. “Wanna fly with me?”

“Sure thing.”

“Betchya I can go higher than you.”

He’s already pushing his swing more. Accepting the challenge, Bucky kicks his legs with some more strength to get the swing really going. For a little bit, their swings are moving back and forth at the exact same time. But then Steve pulls ahead or Bucky lags behind or maybe vice versa and they’re no longer on the same path.

“Careful, Steve,” Bucky chuckles. “You know what happens if you swing over the bar?”

“You can’t swing over the bar.”

“Yeah-ha you can! You know what happens?”

Steve shakes his head, already slowing the swing down.

“No, what?”

“You become inside-out boy.”

“Who’s that?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky admits. “My cousins in Indiana told me about him. He swung over the bar and his skin turned inside out and then his insides were on the outsides.”

“That can’t happen!” Steve exclaims.

“Can too!”

“Liar!”

“Am not!”

Steve twists his lips and lets his toes scrape against the ground to get the swing to slow down even more. 

“Is that true?”

Bucky chuckles.

“Probably not.”

“Good, cause I already have too many insides on the outside.”

That doesn’t make any sense. Steve doesn’t have any insides on the outside. Bucky even takes a moment to double check and, nope, turns out all of his insides are still safely in the inside. 

“There’s no insides on you,” he says.

“They’re not _here_ , dummy.” Steve scoffs. “The doctors have them.” 

He’s still not making any sense. 

“Steve, what’re you talking about?”

“The stuff they took out of me!” Sounds like he’s getting annoyed. “My tonsils and a piece of my liver and my pup-pendix.”

Bucky chuckles. 

“It’s _a_ ppendix.”

“That’s what I said,” Steve says. “Pup-pendix.”

Bucky laughs again. But he’s not so sure if Steve is only fooling around or not. Doesn’t sound like he is.

“You really don’t got that stuff anymore?”

“Nope,” he answers. “Doctor’s took ‘em all outta me.”

“Why?”

“I dunno.” Steve shakes his head. “Mama said it’s cause they weren’t workin’ right and makin’ my body sick. So they took ‘em out. My tonsils and a piece of my liver and my pup-pendix.”

“ _A_ ppendix.”

“That’s what I said!” Steve has now slowed the swing enough so that it’s only swaying gently. “And they fixed up my heart, too.”

“They didn’t take your heart!”

“Well _duh_! Course they didn’t take my heart. They just fixed it up.” He stops the swing completely and is lifting his sweatshirt -- and the two t-shirts under that -- and exposing his chest. Steve is super, duper pale and even skinnier than Bucky thought. And running down his chest is a long scar. “See! That’s where they cut me open.”

Without really thinking about it, Bucky glides the tips of his fingers over Steve’s chest. Right over the scar there. Steve’s stomach clenches and he jerks away with a giggle.

“That tickles,” he says. 

“Sorry.” Bucky pulls his hand away. “Is that why you gotta go to the nurse all the time?”

Steve’s smile falls and he drops his head with a little shake of it like he feels bad that Bucky asked that and now Bucky feels bad for making him feel bad.

“No,” Steve whispers. “That’s cause of my amenia.”

“What’s that?”

“I gotta take vitamins cause my body doesn’t make the vitamins so I gotta take them.”

Of course, Bucky’s mind goes right to the vitamins that his mom keeps in the kitchen cabinet for him. Brightly colored and sweet tasting and fruit shaped. That’s not a big deal. 

“A take vitamins, too!” Bucky exclaims. Happily. Stevie don’t gotta feel so bad about it.

But Steve just looks up at him and smiles before sliding off the swing and collecting his things. The notebook and pencil Bucky saw him with earlier. 

“I gotta go,” he says, softly. “Mama doesn’t want me out when it’s cold.”

It is getting kinda chilly. Steve’s fingers are bright red. His nose is a little pink and starting to get runny. He wipes at it with the back of his sleeve. It takes Bucky a moment to realize that Steve has already taken off towards the exit. He’s leaving. Bucky hops off his swing and hustles after him.

“Hey, wait!” he calls as he approaches from behind. “I’ll walk with you.”

“You don’t gotta,” Steve mumbles. 

“I know.” Bucky shrugs out of his jacket and places it over Steve’s shoulders when he shivers. “But I’m going this way anyway. So what’s that you got there?” he asks before Steve has a chance to protest accepting the jacket. Which he might have until Bucky distracted him from the thought. 

“My notebook.”

“No duh,” Bucky laughs. “I mean what’s in it? It your diary or something?”

Steve hugs it to his chest. He sniffs and lifts his chin.

“ _No_ ,” he grumbles. “S’not a diary.”

“Then what is it? C’mon, Stevie! Tell me! Tell me, tell me, _tell me_!”

“Bucky!” Steve chuckles. “Shut up!”

Instead of shutting up, Bucky hops up and down as they walk the path to leave the park and grabs onto Steve’s shoulders to jostle him a bit and keeps on saying it. Over and over until Steve lets out an exaggerated moan and sighs. 

“Okay, okay! Sheesh.” He opens the book and gives Bucky a peek at it before closing it again. “It’s just some dumb drawings.”

“Hey, wait! Lemme see!”

Steve’s back to hugging the book to his chest. His lips are all twisted when he looks back at Bucky again. He blows a puff of air through them and his eyebrows pull together.

“Don’t laugh, okay?”

“I ain’t gonna laugh, Steve.”

With that promise, Steve opens the book again. He won’t hand it over to Bucky, but he lets him see the first page. On it, is a pencil drawing of a tree. It’s thin and bare. Branches stretching wide and high and far. 

“Wow, Stevie!” Bucky exclaims. Big smile on his face. “That’s real good!”

Steve slams the notebooks shut and scowls.

“You said you wouldn’t laugh,” he snaps. Angry and tomato-faced.

“What?” Bucky rattles his head. “I didn’t laugh! I mean it! It’s good!”

Peeling the book away from his chest again, Steve takes a glimpse at the drawing he’s just shown to Bucky. Looks at it like he’s trying to figure out if Bucky’s lying to him or not. Which Bucky is most definitely not.

“You really think?”

“Heck yeah!”

Bucky watches a smile sneak along Steve’s lips. He tries to fight it, but it happens anyway. Steve pulls the ends of Bucky’s jacket tighter around him when a wind blows. Bucky pulls his hands into the sleeves of his shirt. 

They go through the rest of the park in silence. Comfortably. Stepping on leaves and stopping to pet a dog and just walking together. Bucky only lives another six blocks east from here. His place even overlooks the park. He’s not a hundred percent sure where Steve lives, but he turns right just the same as Bucky.

“Bucky?”

After being quiet for so long, Bucky’s a little surprised when he hears Steve’s voice. It’s soft. Like he’s afraid to talk. Which is unlike him. At least when he’s just with Bucky. He might be quiet around the rest of the gang, but Bucky’s pretty sure that’s just cause he doesn’t know them yet. 

“Yeah, Steve?”

“How come you’re so nice to me?”

That’s a weird question. Bucky thinks the answer is pretty obvious, but just in case Steve isn’t joking he tells him anyway.

“Cause we’re friends, Stevie!”

Steve is quiet for a few minutes before he says, “No one else wants to be my friend.”

Bucky’s tummy feels queasy when Steve says that. He’s not wrong but he’s not right either. People aren’t very nice to him because Steve is the new kid and he’s small and an easy target cause he’ll yell at anyone like Brock when they’re mean to other people.

But Tasha will be his friend. Tasha is just hard to be friends with sometimes. And Clint will be his friend. Clint is friends with anyone who’ll share food with him. Dum-Dum and Jim and Monty and Gabe will be his friends, but they’re in another classroom. Sam will be his friend, but Sam goes to a private school. Rhodey is in their class but he sits on the other side of the room and usually with Tony and Pepper at lunch. Tony and Pepper are in the fourth grade so Steve _should_ be in their year. Instead, he’s in the fifth grade and that can’t be easy. 

“That’s just cause they don’t know you yet,” Bucky assures him. He knows that’s true. Once they get to know Steve, they’ll all like him too. “And ‘sides, _I_ wanna be your friend.”

Once again, they walk quietly. Steve’s found a can to kick and nonchalantly passes it to Bucky. He kicks it forward and back towards Steve’s direction. 

“Bucky?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks,” Steve says quietly. “Thanks for wantin’ to be my friend.”

Bucky tosses his arm over Steve’s shoulder and tugs him in close. It makes Steve miss the can when he tries to kick it again. In fact, Steve _almost_ trips over his own feet, but Bucky keeps him upright.

“No skin off my nose, Steve,” Bucky laughs. “You’re the best new guy I’ve met all year.”

“I’m the only new guy.”

“Still the best,” he states. Gives Steve a jostle as he hugs him closer. “‘Sides, I betcha a million dollars that we’ll _always_ be friends.”


	2. Senior Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which high school changes everything and growing up is hard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **trigger warnings for implied homophobic language and attitudes**

“James Buchanan Barnes! If you don’t get your butt down here now you’re going to be grounded from now until graduation!” 

Bucky rolls over in his bed with a groan. Pulls the pillow over his head for added measure. Whoever decided that school should start at five minutes _before_ eight in the morning should be hunted down and smacked around for a bit. It’s cruel. It’s inhumane. Last time he checked, those were both pretty high up there on that whole unconstitutional thing. 

He can feel the outskirts of a dream just beginning to poke at the fabric of reality. He might even fall back to sleep. But then he hears the horrible sounds that will pull him out of even the deepest of sleep. Well, not literally. But this _almost_ sleep will always be interrupted by the sounds of his mom’s footsteps climbing up the stairs. The noise not only yanks him back awake but also has him damn near falling out of bed so he doesn’t get caught still in it. 

In just a pair of sweats and one sock since the other came off some time in his sleep and is now hiding somewhere in all the blankets on his bed, Bucky hustles to the door and gets it open just in time. His mom is just coming down the hall, but, luckily, pauses when she sees him poke his head out of his bedroom. 

“I’m up, I’m up!” 

Her eyebrows flick up and she taps her toes and looks at her wrist even though there’s no watch there to actually tell her the time. Bucky gets the idea though. Any later and he’s gonna end up being late for school. That’s if he wants to eat breakfast. Skipping breakfast around here is always a big no-no. Most important meal of the day and all that jazz. 

“You’re pushing your luck, mister,” she warns him. “Be downstairs in five minutes for breakfast.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She purses her lips at him and shakes a fist. At age 42, anything that makes Winnie Barnes feel any older than she is is sure to bring her wrath. Playful wrath, of course, but wrath nonetheless. Bucky chuckles and ducks back into his bedroom to hurry up and get ready. Quite honestly, while sleeping in does risk stirring his mom’s evil side, it does give Bucky one advantage. Free use of the bathroom. No pesky sisters banging on the door.

From downstairs, Bucky can hear all the typical sounds of a Barnes’s family Tuesday morning. Loud and rambunctious. Pots and pans moving noisily over the stove and dishes being passed around and probably a glass being knocked over. Someone -- it sounds like Nicole -- is yelling for eggs. Meals here are not exactly easy. Take eggs for example. They can be an instant cause of World War Three. 

The twins both want scrambled eggs -- Nicole wants them _with_ ketchup, Lauren wants them without. Their ten-year-old minds often think it’s hilarious to switch seats in the middle of their meals being cooked. Bucky has to admit it’s pretty funny. Sophia will only have hard boiled eggs but not the yolk. Or sunnyside up but will lose it if the yolk leaks -- at five-years-old Bucky tries to not hold it against her. Becky likes hers softboiled with toast. 

Unfortunately, Becky’s _not_ downstairs yet, and Bucky finds himself on the threshold of another bathroom war with his fifteen-year-old sister. Ugh, he’s too tired for this.

“Beck!” he grumbles when he sees her still in front of the bathroom mirror. Twisting this way and that as she tries to figure out whether or not she likes her chosen outfit. “You look great. Now get out.”

“Shut up, Bucky,” she answers. “Your room has the only other full-length mirror.”

“Yeah, well…” He knows what she’s hinting at. Let her use his mirror and she’ll be out of his way sooner. “I need to use the bathroom! Mom’s gonna kill me if I’m not down for breakfast!”

The eyes of her reflection catch his. She smirks. Bucky sighs. He knows that look and she knows he’s gonna give in. 

“I hate you,” he mutters. 

“You love me. I’m your favorite first sister.”

He rolls his eyes.

“ _Fine_ ,” he sighs. “Go use my mirror. Go, go, go!” He takes her by the arm to drag her out and she’s giggling and, in spite of himself, Bucky’s chuckling. He even kicks her in the butt. “Get out!”

“I’m going, I’m going. Hurry up! Mom’s gonna kill you!”

Like he didn’t know that already. No matter. Bucky can shower quickly. Ever since Tasha took pity on him Freshman year, he can do his hair pretty quickly too. He’s gotten a routine down to a science. A quick towel dry, leave in conditioner, some mouse since that works better than gel in his hair and a few minutes with the blow dryer. Voila. Even in the haze of early morning, Bucky gets that sorta-messy-but-messy-on-purpose look that he’s totally going for. He’ll brush his teeth _after_ breakfast. 

“Bucky!” his mom calls. Right at the bottom of the stairs so he must be cutting it close. “Get a move on!” 

“I’m coming!” 

Towel around his waist, Bucky makes his way back to his room where he’s still got some books from last night’s homework out on his desk since that’s where he fell asleep first and didn’t bother packing up before crawling into bed. Calculus kicked his ass, but he managed to get it done and there’s a test in physics at the end of the week. Second week into the spring semester and they’re already having a test. Ms. Storm wants an outline for the term paper by the beginning of next week and they’re covering the constitution in his history class, but all he got was a worksheet to get done. 

And that’s not even all of Bucky’s classes. There’s still Advanced Spanish with Ms. Van Dyne and Public Speaking -- which just started this semester, but is so far a shit ton of fun -- with Mr. Lang. Then, of course, there’s gym, and Ms. Danvers is, like, the coolest gym teacher ever. 

Most of his friends don’t have such a full schedule. Most _seniors_ don’t either. The reason Bucky took so many was for his college applications and to hedge his chances at getting valedictorian. A title Bucky _might_ find out if he’s getting today. He almost wishes he didn’t have that meeting with Mr. Coulson today at the end of his lunch period. Bucky feels a little sick every time he thinks about it. 

Once he’s dressed, Bucky shoves all his books into his backpack and slings it over his shoulder, finally ready to head downstairs where breakfast is officially being served. 

The whole family is there. Seated around the big, breakfast nook filled with an array of eggs and bacon and slices of toast and juices. Drinks are being poured and there’re dishes clanking together and silverware falling to the floor. Everyone is saying something at the same time. 

Bucky sighs.

It’s chaos. 

Mom is saying something about Sophia having to go to the doctor’s after school and wants to know if Dad called Miss Agatha -- the nanny that’s been with the family since Bucky was little -- to let her know. Lauren and Nicole are arguing over signing up for martial arts or ballet. Becky’s trying to get Mom’s attention about the dress she wants to wear to the spring formal. This is, if Bucky’s counting right, the fourth -- no fifth -- dress she’s just _had_ to have. Dad’s enthralled in a riveting game of get-Sophia-to-not-notice-the-yolk-particles-still-left-in-her-egg while also trying to text someone. 

“Hey, look who decided to join us!” his dad announces as Bucky steps into the kitchen. They have a formal dining room, but they only use it for special occasions like holidays and birthdays. “Good morning, sunshine!”

Bucky smacks his lips and shakes his head. Out of all of them, he’s literally the only one who _doesn’t_ have a morning person attitude. He plops down in his normal seat and grumbles some sort of greeting in response. A clean plate is passed to him and Bucky remembers to say thank you as he scoops some scrambled eggs and bacon onto his plate. 

“Pass the salt, please,” he requests. 

His mom does as she sits with the rest of them. 

“Don’t forget your meeting with Mr. Coulson today, Bucky,” she reminds him. Again. As if he could forget. “Mr. _Valedictorian._ ”

“ _Mom_.” He groans. “You don’t know if that’s why the assistant principal wants to see me.”

“I know, I know,” she says. Like she’s been saying ever since the possibility of Bucky being valedictorian was announced. “We’ll be proud of you no matter what. Right, George?”

“Huh?” Dad puts his phone down and catches up to what they’ve been talking about. “Oh, yeah. Right. Yes. As long as you…”

“Do your best,” Bucky and his sisters say together.

They all laugh and Bucky finds it a little funny but he still feels those knots in his belly. Bucky’s always tried to do his best in everything. He works his ass off for it, too. Doing so has gotten him in honors classes and a 1940 on the SATs. It’s earned him the captaincy of the basketball team and helped him make varsity football when he was a Sophomore. He’s joined several other clubs in school including the Drama Club and peer mediators and --this year -- the yearbook committee and Bucky loves it. He loves having a wide range of friends. 

Sometimes, though, Bucky wonders what it’d be like if he just… _didn’t_ do any of those things. Would his parents still be proud of him if he didn’t have, what his mom calls, an “A-type” personality? If he just _couldn't_ make the grades he did or didn’t _want_ to go to school for political science? He knows his parents mean well, and he’s pretty sure they mean it when they say they’ll be proud of him even if he’s not valedictorian or if he wants to go to school to major in something different… like… maybe… say… creative writing just to name something. Would his friends still be his friends if he didn’t dress right or say the right things or play the right sports? The thought of letting everyone down is just so overwhelming, sometimes Bucky feels like he could just scream. Sometimes, he wonders if he is and no one even pays attention. 

He’s already living a lie. Keeping a secret from his whole family and almost all his friends. There’s only one person in his life that knows. Just one person he trusts more than he even trusts himself. 

“Is Natasha meeting you this morning?”

Rattled from his thoughts, Bucky glances up at his mom and just stares at her for a second. He’s not all that sure what she’s said, just that she’s said his best friend’s name so she must be talking to him. 

“What?” he asks. 

“Natasha,” she repeats. “Is she meeting you this morning?”

“Oh.” Bucky shoves a piece of bacon in his mouth and then adds a forkful of eggs. “Yeah. And I got basketball practice--”

“Bucky?” Becky says.

“--after school so I’ll be late.” He looks at his sister. “What?”

“Can you not talk with your mouth full? It’s disgusting.”

There’s still a bit of chatter going on at the table, but it’s quieted down a great deal now that almost everyone is eating. Bucky stops chewing altogether when Becky makes her request, though. He eyes her for a moment and instead of chewing and swallowing, he opens his mouth wide enough to almost stick his tongue out.

“Ew! Bucky! Gross!” She laughs and punches him in the shoulder. Hard. It hurts a bit. “Mom!”

A chorus of _ews!_ and _gross!_ and laughter breaks throughout the entire table. Bucky can barely contain himself. He’s laughing so hard his sides hurt. Sophia is now imitating him and showing off her full mouth and Dad is trying not to laugh so he can get her to stop and Mom is scolding Bucky for starting the whole thing in the first place, but there’s still a smile on her face. The twins are both covering their eyes and Becky is on a rant of how disgusting boys are when the doorbell rings.

“That’s Tasha!” Bucky announces. He takes a gulp of his orange juice and jumps out of his seat. “I’m done.”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Dad stops him. “Bring your stuff to the sink, mister.”

Bucky holds back a grunt to do as he’s told. There’s just a bunch of scraps left on his plate so he dumps that into the sink and flips the garbage disposal on before rinsing his plate to bring it to the dishwasher. 

“Good? Am I free, warden?”

“Don’t be a smartass,” Mom grunts, but shoos him away. 

Chuckling, Bucky bounds for the door and rolls his eyes when he hears little feet behind him. Leave it to Sophia to follow him. She’s been on a Natasha kick lately. He doesn’t bother trying to make her go away. Natasha won’t want him to anyway. So Bucky just lets her tag along as he opens the front door.

“Morning,” he greets when he sees Natasha on his front steps. Cup of coffee in her hands. 

“Hey,” she replies. 

She’s all bundled up. Black and red plaid peacoat all buttoned up and matching scarf sticking out from the neck of it. Wool hat on her head, waves of red hair flowing out from under it, and hands all snuggled up in gloves. All for good reason. Her nose and cheeks are bright pink. Very different from the rest of her pale complexion. It’s freezing out. Natasha’s eyes are the only lively green around right now.

“Hurry up, hurry up,” Bucky says. “It’s _cold_!”

Natasha’s eyebrows shoot up. Her lips twist and she clicks her tongue then taps her toes. Bucky knows why. He knows that she knows he’d _never_ close the door on her. But if he doesn’t ask nicely, she’s not going to step inside. It doesn’t matter how cold she is, she’ll wait there until he says it politely. She’s just a bit stubborn. 

“Okay, okay, _please_ come in?” Bucky tries again.

This time, Natasha cracks a smile and rolls her eyes as she steps inside.

“You’re lucky I like you, James.”

“I know,” Bucky chuckles. “Luckiest guy in the world.” 

“Kiss!” Sophia exclaims. She’s already at their ankles. A hand bunched into the bottom of Bucky’s shirt. Hopefully, it’s a clean hand so Bucky won’t have to change. “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

“Okay, okay!” Bucky laughs, and he and Natasha lean in for a good morning kiss. Natasha is kind enough to turn at the very last second so he just pecks the corner of her mouth. Sophia’s young enough not to notice the difference.

“Don’t kiss him, Natasha!” Becky yells as she heads towards them with her bag in her hand. Ready to grab her coat and leave for school. “Your boyfriend,” Bucky still winces inside whenever anyone refers to them as a couple, “is gross.”

“Is that right?” She glances at Bucky like she already agrees with Becky, but there’s a flash of sympathy there as well. She knows how bad he feels about this. About the two of them _pretending_ to be dating. “What’d he do now?”

“Bucky was silly!” Sophia starts giggling. “He stuck his food out!”

“He did _what_?” Tasha asks with a laugh. Bends down and lifts Sophia up into her arms. She spins them around and Sophia laughs her head off. “Did he really do that?”

“Yeah,” Becky sniffs. “It was gross.”

“I’m sure they’ll tell you all about it,” Bucky says. “I gotta go brush my teeth. Be right back.”

He’s going up the stairs, taking two at a time, as Natasha grumbles about him kissing her without brushing his teeth first. Bucky scoffs and rolls his eyes, but can’t help smiling a bit anyway. While up there, he hears Nicole searching for a right shoe and Lauren accusing Nicole of taking her favorite shirt. Dad keeps yelling for them to hurry up and it sounds like Mom might be trying to convince Sophia it’s okay to wear her red jacket instead of her blue jacket since her blue jacket is at the cleaners. 

After quickly running his toothbrush over his teeth and taking another look at himself in the mirror to make sure he’s decent -- Sophia’s hands were clean enough that he didn’t need to change his shirt -- Bucky makes his way back down so he and Natasha can head to school. When he gets down to the living room, he shouldn’t be all that surprised to see his mom has joined her in waiting for him. Dad’s probably already left with the twins to drop them off at school before he goes to the office and Mom will take Sophia to Miss Agatha’s house on the way to NYU where she’s the Dean of Admissions. Miss Agatha will take Sophia to her afternoon school session and then pick her and the twins up. 

Bucky sighs again. 

It really is chaos. 

“You ready?” Bucky asks.

Natasha looks up from her coffee and Mom looks up from pulling Sophia’s hair into pigtails. Both of them smile at him, but Natasha shakes her head.

“I’ve been waiting for _you_ , remember?”

“Wait!” Mom calls after him and Bucky’s stomach turns. But she’s already approaching so he can’t pull the what?-I-didn’t-even-hear-you-I’m-sorry-ploy later. She gives him a once over and pushes some loose strands of hair away from his brow. “Good luck today, honey. Whatever Mr. Coulson wants, I’m sure it’s going to be great news.”

Tears begin to swell in her eyes and now Bucky feels bad for trying to rush out of there when he knows his mom loves him and she really always just wants the best for him. She’s been getting misty-eyed ever since senior year started.

“Aw, Mom! Don’t do that! Come on!” He hugs her and she’s clearly trying to keep from blubbering. “It’s gonna be fine!”

“I know,” she whispers and rubs her hand over his back. “It’s just… my baby’s all grown up.”

A smile pulls up on Bucky’s mouth. Sure, she might say that, but that won’t stop her from enforcing a curfew and making him do chores and such.

“Not all grown up,” he says as he pulls away. “Still a lot of shit I can get in trouble for.”

“Hey!” she scolds. Face serious and all traces of those tears gone. “Watch your language!”

“See?” Bucky gives her a goofy grin and wiggles his eyebrows. She scoffs and rolls her eyes as he turns and dashes for the door. “See you later, Mom!”

“Have a good day!”

With Natasha at his side, they head out for school together. There’s still snow leftover from last week’s blizzard. Mostly pushed against the curbs, but the winds are strong enough that sugar flakes dance along the sidewalks. 

A few more of their classmates greet them on their way. Some of them with simple nods, others with actual words. There are a few that Bucky only really knows as a meet and greet in the hall. Some that he’d gotten chummy with in one class and then never had a chance to speak with again. Doesn’t mean they can’t at least greet each other. Bucky’s not gonna be that dick. 

“You okay?” Natasha asks as they walk. 

“Sure.” He shrugs. “I mean, I guess. Hey, Tasha, if you don’t want to keep doing this, I’d understand. It’s totally not fair of me to keep you from finding someone you actually _want_ to date.”

“But there isn’t anyone I really want to date, James,” she assures him. “ _I’m_ okay. I need to know that _you’re_ okay.”

“I’m okay,” he sorta lies. It’d probably just be easier if he could tell the truth. “Just a few more months and we can split amicably and decide to stay friends because we’re going to two separate schools and that’s the end of it.”

The end of it. Just the thought of splitting up to go to different schools alone has Bucky’s head spinning. He thought he had everything figured out. Life on a silver platter. Big family, great friends, popularity, choice of schools once he’s officially accepted. But lately, everything feels so all over the place. 

“You know.” Uh-oh. Here comes the part where she says the truth that Bucky doesn't want to hear. “You can probably tell them the truth. Your parents at least. Do you really think they’ll care that you’re…?” 

She doesn’t say the word. Probably because he’s never come out and said it to her either. He’s never even tasted the words out loud before. 

They’ve been over this before, but it still makes Bucky shake to think about. No, he doesn’t really think they’ll care. But… what if they do? Their only son. Gay. No one to carry on the family name. To spread the Barnes’s seed. Their only boy, gay. And all that ridiculous homophobic crap that they probably _won’t_ throw at him but… but… 

“What if they do?” he whimpers. “Tasha, what if they hate me? What if they never want to see me again and kick me out and think I’m gross and…”

“Hey, hey.” She slows them to a stop and maneuvers them to the side of a building. “Okay, we don’t have to talk about this now. Or ever, if you really don’t want to.” Fuck, his best friend is a saint. For all of this. For everything. “Whatever you want to do or however you want to handle this? I got your back, Bucky. Okay? All for one?”

She holds a fist out to him and he scoffs a chuckle. It’s been ages since they’ve done this, and it’s a little strange since Clint’s not in on it, but he’s not about to leave her hanging. Bucky places his hand over her fist.

“And all for one.”

“Good. Now let’s go. It’s fucking cold.”

Thank goodness it’s a short walk to school. They make one stop along the way. Just at their favorite deli so that Bucky can get himself coffee. His parents don’t really want him drinking coffee. They say it’ll stunt his growth. Given that Bucky’s already clocked in at 5’7 he’s not so sure he has all that much to worry about. Still, he finds it easier to skip the warning looks and the potential lecture and just get it on his own. 

Once they get to school, Bucky sheds his coat quickly. The tropical temperatures inside are enough to make him sweat immediately. They’ve barely gotten through the front doors when a pair of arms swath around the both of them. 

“Is it summer yet?”

Clint hangs his head between the both of them and pretends to drag his weight. As if he just has no strength to do it himself. 

“‘Fraid not,” Natasha answer, handing him the cup of coffee she bought from the deli.

Face lighting up, Clint gives a little _woohoo_ as he accepts it from her and kisses her cheek. If anyone sees Clint giving Bucky’s “girlfriend” a peck on the cheek they shouldn’t think anything of it. The three of them have been dubbed ‘The Three Musketeers’ for years now. It might be dorky as all hell, but, well, that’s fine by them. Someone started a nasty rumor a few years ago that he and Clint pass Tasha back and forth between them. Bucky never got the _full_ story, but a few weeks after the rumors started, they stopped, and Justin Hammer had a black eye and does whatever he can to avoid Natasha to this day. 

“Oh, you are the _best_ ,” Clint says as he peels the lid off the paper cup and even licks the moisture there. “Seriously, the best.”

Bucky has no doubt that this is probably Clint’s second or third cup this morning, but he’ll _still_ fall asleep during his first-period class. Coffee, Clint says, is his best friend. Hasn’t seemed to hurt his growth either since he’s even _taller_ than Bucky. And since Clint has him by an inch or two, Bucky can easily see that his eyes follow someone as they walk by. Bucky nudges his ribs with his elbow.

“You can talk to her, you know,” Bucky says. 

“Who?”

Bucky snickers as he, Natasha, and Clint head up the stairs towards their lockers. Leave it to Clint to play oblivious when he’s anything but. 

“Laura Millar. You’ve been eyeing her all year.”

“Don’t think we haven’t noticed,” Natasha adds when Clint ducks his head down and mumbles something about hating them.

“A second ago you loved us for bringing you coffee,” Bucky reminds him.

Clint rolls his eyes but makes a show of taking a long sip of the drink in question and ends up burning his tongue while doing so. 

“Aw, coffee! You betrayed me!”

“You’re such an ass,” Natasha says. “Don’t think we’re not talking about this! You should ask her out.”

“It’s not that easy!” Clint whines.

Up on the second floor, they’re now making their way through more crowds as students and teachers and faculty push through the halls. 

“Sure it is,” Bucky says. “Hey, Wanda!” he greets as one of the two Maximoffs walk by. She smiles and waves. “Just ask her to hang out!”

Even over all the chatter and noise of the hallway Clint groans loud enough that a few heads turn to look at them. Clint just smirks at them like he didn’t do anything at all. 

“That’s easy for _you_ to say,” he grumbles. “You guys have known each other for _years_. Everyone knew _you_ two would end up together.”

Glands growing several sizes in his throat, Bucky can’t answer. He doesn’t have to though. Natasha swoops in for him and picks up where he left off. Tells Clint that he should just strike up a conversation with Laura and effectively keeping things from straying to talks of _BuckyNat_ as the student body has been known to call them. 

“What would I even say to a girl like that?” Clint asks once they’re at Bucky’s locker. Natasha has continued on her way to hers which is around the corner in the next hall. “She’s so… classy. And I’m…”

“Awesome,” Bucky finishes for him as he pulls open the locker and stuffs his jacket inside. “And nice and sweet and smart and stop selling yourself short, Barton.”

Cup to his lips, Clint chuckles and takes a sip. He doesn’t really respond to that, but Bucky can see the wheels turning in his head. Like, maybe now that it’s been brought up to him, Clint might actually act on the feelings he has. Which is good. Clint has no reason to be shy about himself. He might call himself a human disaster because, well, he’s lazy as all hell and will eat week old cold pizza and might trip over nothing, but he’d also kill for Bucky or Natasha or, hell, even just someone who needed his help. 

As Bucky rummages through his locker, he gets quite a few hellos and good mornings from various classmates. Both Pietro -- the other half of the Maximoffs -- and Thor stop to give him high-fives and ask about this Thursday’s basketball game. Peggy Carter, head of the Future Business Leaders of America _and_ Model-UN, and is also in the cosmetology club, stops to ask him to sign a petition to do away with the double standards in the school’s dress code. Bucky promptly signs that since just last month, when Pepper Potts was running for the Junior Class vice president, she was sent home right before student council speeches because too much of her _collar_ bone was showing. Bruce, Betty, and Jane shout hellos as they rush by pushing a cart with microscopes and beakers and test tubes and slides. Everyone gets out of the way for the Science Crew. Last time there was a collision involving them, the science wing was shut down for the rest of the day. 

“Hey, Barnes, Barton!” Tony comes charging down the hall at them. “Guess what!” Not that he actually _gives_ them time to guess. “Parents are gonna be gone all weekend. Business meeting in Hong Kong. You know what that means!”

Tony rushes off again before either of them can reply, stopping here and there to tell someone else that his place will be free this weekend. They already know the time and place. Not that it matters. Bucky’ll see him in physics this afternoon anyway. Tony might be a Junior, but he’s in tons of advanced classes. He could have opted to graduate a year early but decided not to. That decision just happened to coincide with Tony’s relationship with his girlfriend, Pepper, getting pretty serious. 

“Well, I guess we have plans this weekend,” Clint says.

Bucky nods, with every intention on actually answering, but someone coming down the hallway distracts him. Actually, he’s _dancing_ down the hallway. Earbuds stuffed in his ears and red leather jacket almost always on, Peter Quill doesn’t exactly scream subtle. He just busts a move as he makes his way through the hall -- head bobbing and fingers snapping. Quill is one of those guys that reminds Bucky of people Dad says has no direction. He shows up for class, but props his feet up and keeps his hands behind his head. Not that he’s disrespectful or is disruptive or anything, Bucky can’t accuse him of that, but the last time anyone asked him what he wanted to do with his life his response was totally strange.

“I’m gonna be a space outlaw,” he said. “Travel the worlds and fight crime. Just call me Star-Lord. I’ll be legendary.”

No one actually calls him Star-Lord even though he’s been insisting it’s his nickname since he moved here in the seventh grade. Bucky doesn’t really associate with Peter Quill. He’s sort of a magnet for trouble. Because with him is Steve Rogers, sporting that worn out, oversized black hoodie he always wears. The one with a red, white, and blue bullseye on the back of it. White star right in the center. Hood up. Bucky would think it had something to do with patriotism, but Steve’s the furthest thing from patriotic. Constantly bickering and debating with literally anyone that might disagree with him on political views. 

Not that Steve’s views are particularly bad. In fact, from what Bucky’s heard Steve yelling, he mostly agrees with them. It’s just that, where Steve goes, trouble follows. But today, when Quill _dances_ by them -- cutting right between Bucky and Clint -- he winks and points his fingers like guns at them, clicking his teeth as he does, Steve doesn’t even look their way. 

Both Bucky and Clint turn to watch as they continue on their way. Clint chuckles a little. Unlike Bucky, he’s always gotten a bit of a kick out of Quill. Quill is still dancing, still winking and shooting his fingers at anyone who happens to glance at him. Until he goes by the stairs where Brock Rumlow and Gilmore Hodge happen to be coming up. Because Quill is in the middle of a twirl, he almost knocks into them. He misses, but the consequences of almost hitting them is Hodge shoving his shoulder and Rumlow shouting the ‘f’ word at him. It makes Bucky’s stomach turn, his head spin, and his blood freeze. He wants to say something. He wants to yell at Rumlow for saying such things. He wants to scream that it’s the year two thousand and fucking nineteen and that shit’s not fucking okay. But he doesn’t. 

Bucky can still remember the first time something like that was said to _him._ It was in middle school, and John Schmidt called Bucky several homophobic slurs. Schmidt did all he could to make Bucky feel horrible for saying Brendon Urie was hot. Bucky can _still_ remember the way his heart shattered at the sound of the words. The way they latched onto him and still makes him sick to the stomach.

“What’s the big deal?” Bucky murmured. Careful. Quiet. “So I think he’s good looking.”

“It’s fucking disgusting!” John shouted.

“But…”

Before Bucky could finish any other statement, John jerked away from him like he was repulsed by his very presence and then shouted the words _again_. The venom in John’s voice made some of the other guys stare at Bucky and when John told them what he’d said, they then mocked him for calling another dude hot. Bucky was actually a little scared that someone might hit him if he didn’t laugh along and say he was just kidding. 

So, that’s what he did. Bucky said he was just fucking around and then kept his mouth shut. And pretty much has since that day. Because the one time he tried again it… it just didn’t end well. 

But here in the hall, Steve, with balled up fists and steam coming out his ears, flings his hood off almost charges at Rumlow. _Almost_. Quill puts a hand on his shoulder to stop him and turns on his heels to give them both an innocent look while turning his hand next to his other as if cranking a machine. As he does it, his middle finger slowly rises and Quill opens his mouth like he’s shocked it’s happening. 

“Oh, wow, guys,” he says. “I’m sorry. I had no idea how this thing worked.”

Bucky smiles. Both Rumlow and Hodge give him grunted _fuck yous_ to which Quill pretends to be scandalized by before twirling around again -- giving the requested fist bump to Steve -- and heading away with him like neither of them means a thing. Well, Quill might not be Bucky’s favorite person in the world, but he certainly can’t say he isn’t amusing. And he’s envious of one thing. Because when Rumlow and Hodge greet him, instead of ignoring them like he wants to or even flipping them off like he wants to even more or, hell, even throwing a fist at them like Steve would have, he nods his head back in greeting. It’s a stiff, unpleasant greeting, but still a greeting. 

He knows they’re assholes and not worth his fucking time, but they’re on the same teams as he is and some of their friends overlap and Bucky just doesn’t know what to do to get them to stop _being_ assholes. The one time he did what he’s been taught to do and went to someone for help, he was basically told he was being overdramatic. Emotional. And to just let it go. Sure, Bucky and his friends know that Rumlow and his goons are a bunch of jackasses, but apparently, that’s not the way everyone else sees it. Because when Mr. Phillips and Mr. Pym step into the hall, the teachers are greeted with respectful and polite hellos. Sweet smiles and friendly waves. 

Rumlow and Hodge make good grades and don’t cause trouble in class and volunteer after school. They’re big athletes and help with fundraisers and come off as good kids. That’s what Bucky’s heard them described as. Good kids. The teachers and faculty are none the wiser to how nasty they can really be. Guys like Rumlow and Hodge are the golden boys at the school. Bucky might be a favorite, he won’t deny that, but Rumlow and Hodge and their little clique are the superstars.

“I really hate those guys,” Clint says as they go by. “Bunch of fuckin’ pricks they are.”

“I know.”

“Can’t believe you hang out with them.”

“I…” Bucky sighs. “I _don’t_ hang out with them. I don’t even _like_ them. We just play the same sports. I can’t help it if we’re on the same teams. And who the fuck are _you_ to talk? You play basketball with all of us, too!”

Slowly turning his head towards him, Clint takes a jab right in Bucky’s ribs. Bucky gasps and swears and laughs all at the same time.

“You fucker,” he mumbles and then hammers his hand into Clint’s thigh. It doesn’t give him the Charlie horse he was hoping for, but it does make him stumble a bit. “Ha.”

“Oh yeah?”

When Clint moves to pull Bucky into a headlock, he gets just far enough that his arms touch his shoulders.

“All right, boys, that’s enough.”

They straighten back up quickly. Well, Clint does. Bucky winces a bit, the hit to his side giving him a slight twinge. Either way, they stand to face the assistant principal. 

“Sorry, Mr. C,” Clint says. “We were just headed to class.”

“I can see that,” Mr. Coulson answers. “Enough roughhousing and get to it. And, uh, Mr. Barnes?”

“Yeah?” 

“I’ll see you this afternoon, right?”

Oh.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Mr. Coulson.”

Although at this point, Bucky’s kinda wishing he could just skip over this meeting and get straight to the end of the day. 

*******

Unfortunately for Bucky he does not, in fact, possess any sort of telekinetic powers to change space and time so the day has to go by like it normally does and he’s forced to sit through all of his classes until it’s finally time to meet Natasha and Clint for lunch.

Bucky sits near the end of the table with them and a few of their other friends. Clint is leaning up against the wall, pretending to be asleep, but he’ll still participate in conversations. Bucky’s next to him and Natasha’s on Bucky’s other side insisting that he eat something. 

“M’not really hungry.”

“I know.” She probably does. Natasha gets that he’s nervous. “But you should eat anyway.” 

Bucky huffs a bit and picks at the frozen pizza he’s got in front of him. The thought of eating it makes him feel sick, but he knows she’s right. Ugh, he just wants to get this over with. 

“When do you gotta leave?” Clint asks. Still leaning up against the wall with his eyes closed. His mouth is even still hanging open. 

“Who’s leaving?” Thor asks. “And where are they going?” 

He’s presently unpacking his lunch. Out of the brown paper bag -- a grocery-sized paper bag. The guy can put away a meal meant for four. Because of Thor’s huge girth and heavy accent -- he and his family moved here from Norway a few years ago -- he’s developed something of a scary reputation when, really, he’s a big teddy bear. Sure, he dominates on the football field -- which is funny since he first went out for soccer, but when he got a real glimpse of American football he never looked back -- but he’s just as sweet as can be and really wouldn’t hurt a fly. Unless, of course, the fly hurt someone first. 

“I gotta go see Mr. Coulson,” Bucky answers. “Before the period’s over.”

“Why is that?”

“Maybe you and Natasha have been nominated for prom king and queen,” Jane suggests. “That’s what he wanted last time, right?

When they were nominated for homecoming king and queen. That’s true. But prom is not until June. That’s almost five full months away. Plus, he can’t remember any nominations taking place yet.

“I dunno, Jane,” Bucky says. “Wouldn’t we both be called down then? And you two would be nominated, too.”

Jane and Thor are dating, and Thor’s a senior like him. Bucky’s not gonna lie; they make the most adorable couple ever. Jane is Miss Science. Completely absorbed in astrophysics and always getting lost in conversations with Tony and Bruce and Betty about shit that no one else can really understand and Thor totally adores her. 

When Bucky says that, they grin at each other and kiss, and Bucky wonders if maybe he and Natasha should do the same, but she’s distracted by her phone anyway. Things like this always make Bucky wonder if he has any idea how to be in a relationship at all. Which is ludacris. Bucky’s been in relationships before. They never lasted, of course, but he’s not a relationship dummy. He’s not some expert, but he doesn’t need one of those instructional books. At least, he didn’t think he did. Nowadays, he’s wondering if he should pick up a copy. 

“It doesn’t mean it’s bad news, does it?” Thor asks. “No reason to be too nervous.”

“What’s not bad news?” Sam asks as he finally joins them with his lunch.

Sam transferred here this year from private school and plays football with Bucky. He’s also the shortstop and captain of the baseball team. He didn’t need to transfer. Sam just didn’t want to deal with all the added stress.

“Bucky’s gotta go see Mr. Coulson before lunch is over,” Natasha tells him. “He’s worried.”

“Why?” Sam asks. Pops open a can of soda and takes a sip before going on. “He’s probably just gonna tell you that you’re valedictorian.”

For the first time since sitting down at the table, Clint opens his eyes and looks at Bucky. Shocked even. The rest of his friends look at him like that, too. Except for Natasha and Sam. 

“Wait, what?” Clint asks. “Is he serious? Do you really think you might be valedictorian?”

Bucky doesn’t look at him. He just stares at the overcooked cheese of his pizza which doesn’t offer all that much help. In fact, it’s a bit judgemental as it stares back at him. All hard and brown. It knows what Bucky knows. That he’s been keeping things from his friends. 

“I mean… yeah. I guess.”

Clint leans his chair back so he can get a better view of Natasha. 

“Did you know about this?” he asks. When she shrugs and doesn’t answer beyond popping a grape in her mouth, he mutters something about girlfriend privilege and then drops forward again. “Why didn’t you say anything, dude?”

“Hey, did you guys hear about Tony’s party this weekend?” Natasha asks. Parties aren’t usually her big thing, but she brings it up anyway. At the same time, she takes Bucky’s hand under the table. “What do you think he’s gonna do this time?”

It’s a quick and successful distraction. Everyone starts contemplating what might happen this weekend. 

Bucky gives Natasha’s hand a squeeze. She squeezes back. The only reason she knows about this at all is that it was unavoidable. What with it being brought up at his house so much. Sam probably knows because he’s a candidate as well. What Bucky’s not sure of is why he hasn’t shared this with his friends like Sam has. In truth, this is exciting news. Which is why Sam told everyone when he found out he thought he had a chance. It’s just… between first applying to several ivy league schools and working on so many essays for them and now waiting to hear back from them and preparing for interviews for them, having to talk about this with his family _and_ his friends just seemed like a bit much. So, Bucky just didn’t say anything. 

When talking about Tony’s party shifts to talks about this past weekend’s trip to the movies, Bucky’s more than willing to get involved. Seeing how that includes talking about how Clint tried to hop over a parking meter and failed epically, he doesn’t want to miss out on retelling the story in as much detail as possible. Which has him in stitches and Natasha acting the thing out with her fingers and Clint pretending even harder that he’s sleeping. Even going so far as mocking fake snores. _Loud_ fake snores. 

Sam goes on to explain the _proper_ way to leap over stationary objects by demonstrating using his chair. To which, of course, Clint says is completely unfair since…

“A chair is totally _not_ the same height as a _parking_ meter, dude. Not even close. There’s no way you could do it anyway.”

He might have a point and the rest of the table agrees. The rest of the table agreeing has Clint gloating like a goddamn bastard. That only spurs Sam on even more. 

“Wanna bet?”

Uh-oh. Bucky and Natasha share a smirk. If there’s one thing they know for certain about Clint it’s that he’s always got a hard-on for a challenge. And right now, he’s thirsting for it. Thirsting to prove that, yeah, maybe he busted his ass this weekend, but there’s _no way_ Sam would’ve fared better than him. 

While they work out the terms of their little wager, a loud yell carries over everything and happens to drown out their voices. Enough that all their mouths snap closed and everyone at the table starts looking for the source of it. Even though it’s coming from the other _corner_ of the big, crowded, loud room. 

“You’re a fucking _asshole_!”

“Uh-oh,” Thor comments. “Look who’s at it again.”

Surprise, surprise. Steve fucking Rogers. Face all red and hands clenched into fists like maybe _this_ time whatever fight he starts will end with him victorious instead of beaten to a pulp. He’s standing up and will start causing a fucking scene if he doesn’t shut the hell up. Which he probably won’t. Cause he never does. 

“Why don’t you show a _little_ respect, huh?” Steve goes on to yell. At who, Bucky doesn’t know. He can’t see the current target of Steve’s rage. “Oh, just shut the hell up! Wade is--”

Whatever he wanted to say is interrupted by someone else. Most likely the person he’s yelling at. What they say only makes Steve even angrier. His face, Bucky swears, turns purple. 

“You have _no_ idea what you’re talking about!”

“He scares me,” Jane murmurs, effectively turning their attention away from another one of Steve’s temper tantrums.

Bucky chuckles. 

“ _He_ scares you?” he asks. 

Bucky finds that hard to believe. Steve might be a _little_ taller now, but that’s pretty much all that’s changed about him. Well, physically. Except for maybe the piercings -- bar through his eyebrow, hoops in the middle of his lower lip, left ear, barbell in his tongue -- and sleeve of tattoos up and down his right arm. He's still all skin and bones. Too pale. Always going to the nurse. Same mop of dark blonde hair that he's either getting yelled at for having a hood over or a knitted beanie over and never bothers fixing it when he takes either off his head so his bangs are always falling just below his eyebrows. Summer blue eyes that could probably melt all the snow still outside. That jawline still tightens when he's pissed, just like when he was ten-years-old. Still hugs a sketchbook to his chest everywhere he goes. Still kicks rocks when he's on the sidewalk. Still always has a bandage somewhere on him.

“You’re dating Goliath over here--”

“Hey!” Thor exclaims.

“--and little Steve Rogers scares you? I’m pretty sure you’re taller than him.”

“Yeah, but…” She glances back to where Steve is still shouting at someone and shudders. “Look at him. He’s like a loose cannon. Did you hear about what happened with him and Johnny Storm?”

“Ms. Storm’s nephew?” Natasha asks. Lips set in a line. Though they’ve never talked about him, Bucky can already tell she’s not fond of Johnny. “Guy’s got a mouth on ‘im.”

Jane nods and goes on to say that, yeah, Johnny’s kind of an arrogant jerk, but that he’s really a sweet guy also and that last month Steve Rogers just hauled off and punched him right in the chin.

“Out of nowhere!” Jane swears. “Darcy says she saw it. That Johnny was walking down one way and Steve was walking down the other and Steve just went _crazy_ on him and Peter Quill was there--” And that’s why Bucky avoids Quill. He and Steve are together enough that it spells trouble with a capital T “--and he pulled Johnny off of Steve. It’s why Steve was suspended for a week last month.”

While Bucky does recall Steve being out for a week last month, he didn’t know that he had gotten himself suspended again. He just thought maybe he was sick. Cause he’s Steve. And Steve still gets sick a lot. He also had no idea that Steve had gotten into a fight with Johnny. In fact, he’s pretty sure he saw the two of them just the other day high-fiving each other in the hall.

“That boy really has a mouth on him,” Thor says with his mouth full of salami and cheese sub. “Might make a fine warrior if he knew when to actually use it.”

It doesn’t surprise Bucky that Peter Quill is friends with a guy like Steve Rogers. The two of them make quite the pair. If one of them isn’t in a fight today, the other is. And whoever isn’t in a fight today, will be tomorrow. Quill is an easier pill to swallow, what with his laidback, roll-with-it attitude while Steve walks around looking for a fight all the time. Not that Bucky’s paying attention. Steve can do whatever the hell he wants, Bucky’s not his keeper. 

“Hey, lay off guys,” Sam says. “Steve’s an okay guy.”

It _does_ surprise Bucky that Sam Wilson is friends with a guy like Steve Rogers. Friends might be too strong of a word, but they’re definitely more than just a friendly hello in the hall. Still, Sam is sweet and kind and sometimes he might have a bit of a temper, but he works hard and plans to join the airforce after school. The fact that he sometimes hangs out with a hot-head like Steve never fails to amaze Bucky. 

Sam makes Steve laugh. Steve jokes around with Sam in class. They danced together at Homecoming. Mrs. Wilson has even had Steve over for dinner when he and Sam were working on a project together -- what project, Bucky doesn't know, he just assumes Sam was tutoring Steve in something -- and she had nothing but nice things to say about him. From what Bucky understands, Sam’s even introduced Steve to his boyfriend, Riley, who still goes to the private school Sam had gone to. 

Not that Bucky cares or anything, he doesn’t. Sam can be friends with anyone he wants to be friends with, it's no skin off of Bucky's nose.

Bucky's not going to bother himself with Steve, though. Not again. He already went through the pain of losing him as a friend once. Literally. When Steve simply vanished from Bucky's life before middle school even started. Steve's been trouble ever since he reappeared at the start of tenth grade. With a new look and a new personality and zero desire to rekindle any relationship with Bucky Barnes. That, Steve's made very obvious by acting as though he and Bucky were never any more than complete strangers. 

But Bucky doesn’t have time to think about how Steve Rogers is no longer the best kid ever. How he used to spend weekends with him and shared a sleeping bag with at sleepovers and who might have been, at one time, his favorite person in the whole world. He’s got an appointment with Mr. Coulson and if he waits any longer, he’s gonna be late. 

“I gotta go!” Bucky announces. Rises from his seat with his tray of garbage. “I’ll catch you crazy cats later.”

He gets a round of farewells and goodbyes. A pat on the back and a punch in the arm from Clint. Bucky’s about the leave the table when Natasha stands with him. At first, he thinks she’s just keeping up with their act. The cute, happy couple. That must be a part of it. She wouldn’t be kissing his cheek if it wasn’t. But that’s what she does first. She kisses him and then smiles and whispers in his ear.

“Everything’s gonna be just fine, James.”

Unable to help himself, Bucky kisses her cheek. Which has nothing to do with their pretend relationship. He’d do it even if everything was the same as last year and everyone thought they were still just best friends. Someone -- Clint probably -- tells them to get a room. They both ignore him and Natasha tousles his hair a bit to send him on his way. Bucky takes a glance out at the cafeteria before leaving. He doesn’t really know what he’s looking for. All he knows is that when he leaves, Steve Rogers isn’t where he last saw him. But then, that's nothing really new to Bucky, and something other than nerves tiptoe through his stomach. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> Feel free to check me out on tumblr for more fun at [thebestpersonherelovesbucky](http://thebestpersonherelovesbucky.tumblr.com/) or pillowfort at [thebestpersonherelovesbucky](https://www.pillowfort.io/thebestpersonherelovesbucky%22) or twitter [thebestpersonherelovesbucky](https://twitter.com/thebestpersonh1)


	3. Important Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky has not one, but _two_ meetings with the assistant principal

The carpet in the main office is soft. Like really soft. Bucky’s always liked pressing his feet over it. Today he pushes a little harder as he waits. He’s been asked to take a seat since Mr. Coulson is still in with someone. Seventh period has already started, but that’s not unusual. Meetings scheduled at the end of the period _never_ start on time. It’s not a big deal since this is the one free period Bucky has on his schedule so he’s not missing anything anyway. Honestly, Bucky probably could have just spent the last fifteen minutes of his lunch period actually with his friends instead of sitting here. Then again, had he taken the chance and just stayed in the cafeteria, he’d probably end up being late or something because that’s just how the universe works. 

So, Bucky just sits there at the round table and waits. Pressing his feet into the soft carpet and drumming his fingers over the table, listening to the ladies behind the desk answer phones and chat amongst themselves. A few of them ask how he’s doing and one of them asks if he has a sister in the school which is funny since it’s usually Becky being asked if she has an older brother. After a few more minutes, Bucky starts playing a game on his phone despite the signs on the wall that clearly prohibit the use of cell phones. 

As he’s sitting there, Bucky ends up hearing the unmistakable and very determined voice of Peggy Carter as she pursues her current crusade. Once Peggy gets started on something, she’s a force to be reckoned with and will not be ignored. 

“But, Mr. Pierce, if you’d just listen for a minute.” She’s coming in through the doors on the other end, chasing after the Dean of Students. “I have a petition here with over two hundred signatures to change the biased and unfair rules of the dress codes enforced here at P.S. 616 which are clearly more interested in catering to the comforts of young men than in the education of young women.”

Mr. Pierce comes off as a likable guy. Has an open door policy. Greets most of the students by name. Smiles when he talks. He’s always well-dressed and speaks with worldly experience. As the Dean of Students, Mr. Pierce is in charge of discipline of the student body and he’s the one who brought in the Peer Mediation program, claiming he thought it’d be a good idea to give students the tools they’d need as adults to work out problems amongst themselves. 

He makes speeches at the open house the school has at the beginning of every year where parents come in the evening to listen to talk about the budget and changes to the school and curriculum. Bucky’s only heard it because he works with the student council. Mr. Pierce always starts off by talking about how each student he works with is unique so every solution they come up with has to be unique as well. 

“High school can be an exciting and scary time in the lives of our students,” he always states. “I believe that it is my job to help guide them on the right path.” And he always ends the speech with some variation of: “The five critical values that we talk to our students about are, to be honest, be respectful, be responsible, be fair, and be compassionate. If I can get the students that I interact with to understand these values, then their behaviors can mirror what these values teach them.”

The speech always gets him a great round of applause, and parents coming up to him afterward to thank him for all he does. There’re awards for merit and achievement in child behavioral therapy, and pictures of him shaking hands with notable people like the Mayor of New York City and the state governor in his office. 

So, yeah, Mr. Pierce comes off as a pretty nice guy. 

And to lots of people, he is. Many of Bucky’s classmates have talked about how understanding he is and how nice he is. When they see him in the hall they’ll wave and sometimes throw their hands up for a high-five which Mr. Pierce will softly reciprocate. 

But Bucky knows a different side to Mr. Pierce. One that’s not reflected in those speeches and smiles and awards. A side that’s intolerant and stubborn and intimidating. Bucky doesn’t like Mr. Pierce and does whatever he can to avoid him. 

Mr. Pierce is already behind the main desk and doesn’t look like he has much interest in what Peggy has to say. He claims to serve the interests of all students, and when he does, it goes above and beyond which is how the school has a brand new floor and scoreboard in the gym and a remodeled library. He _doesn’t_ care about everyone’s interests, though, and this clearly falls under that category which is why he’s brushing Peggy off right now. But he sighs when she says the word ‘petition’ -- he must be aware of how easily social media can spread things these days -- and faces her. 

“You have thirty seconds, Miss Carter,” he says. “I have a very important meeting to get to.”

“Yes, sir, I’m sure the further funding for the school’s already over-inflated athletic department is _very_ important,” Peggy replies. 

Before Mr. Pierce can say a _word_ to that -- and though Bucky might benefit greatly from what Peggy’s making fun of he can’t help smirking -- she waves behind her. 

Two people are there. Obviously, considering the way they’re dressed, they’re with her to help prove her point. And yet, it all makes perfect sense. 

“As you can see,” Peggy begins. “We have two test subjects. Subject number one is male.”

Subject number one is called Loki and happens to be Thor’s brother. He _also_ happens to be nothing _like_ Thor. Where Thor is everything athletic and loves competition and the sweet taste of victory, Loki’s life is the stage and he’s scored all the best parts. He’s everything drama and the spotlight and the sweet sound of applause. Loki’s currently dressed in a strapless shirt that wraps tightly around him and black leggings. Which is… actually, lowkey for… Loki. Bucky’s seen him come to school wearing gold trimming and a cape and a horned headpiece. _In character_ , he claimed. 

Peggy’s gone on to explain in great detail exactly what Loki’s wearing and all the skin that’s showing and what the fabric also extenuates. That his shoulders are exposed and his curves are showing. 

“ _I_ am in character,” Loki states. He’s got an accent like Thor’s, but he always holds his chin up when he speaks and there’s something slightly more… maybe _sophisticated_ is the word about him. Or arrogant. Bucky’s pretty sure it’s the latter. “When I am _in character_ I am _immersed_ in that character. I _become_ that character.”

“Yes, Loki,” Peggy replies. “Thank you.”

Behind the desk, Mr. Pierce starts rolling his finger at Peggy to move her along. A tight smile pulls up on her lips as she tries to maintain that air of professionalism, though it’s clear his need to rush her is irritating. Bucky doesn’t blame her. Even _he’s_ irritated. But then, he should be used to being brushed off and intimidated by Mr. Pierce. Bucky’s already learned to keep away from him. He learned it the hard way. 

“And, here, we have subject number two.” Peggy waves to her.

Subject number two is Angela Cartinelli -- Angie to most people. She talks about a mile a minute and Bucky’s not sure if he’s ever actually seen her _not_ smiling which is actually kinda scary cause he _has_ seen her mad. She’s also big into the drama club and even scored the part of Juliet last year. Something Bucky’s pretty sure Loki hasn’t really forgiven her for since he wanted the part but got Romeo instead. Loki claimed Romeo’s character was boring and lacking depth, that the _real_ interest came from Juliet and he was only denied the part because of the school’s outdated views of gender norms. Bucky -- who actually got the part of Tybalt in the play and was pretty damn good, if he does say so himself -- agrees about the gender thing, but thought Angie made an amazing Juliet. Angie and Peggy have been dating for the past year and Bucky, as a member of the student council, tried to help nominate them for homecoming royalty, but they were shot down. 

At the moment, Angie is twirling and showing off what _she’s_ wearing. Which is _exactly_ the same thing as Loki. 

“What exactly is the point of your little fashion show, Miss Carter?” Mr. Pierce asks. 

The disgruntled look on Peggy’s face is proof enough she’s about ready to scream. Bucky’s positive Mr. Pierce _gets_ what she’s saying. It’s just that he’s, once again, disinterested. 

“My point is, sir, that both Loki and Angie are wearing the _exact_ same thing, and yet it’s _Angie_ that would be asked to leave a classroom, cutting into precious learning time because you--” She stops herself from that line of thought and goes for a different approach “--because of the dress code being enforced. Why is it that the way Angie is dressed is somehow _more_ distracting to boys than the way Loki is dressed to girls?”

“Because, Miss Carter,” Mr. Pierce says. Actually dignifying Peggy with an answer this time. “Boys and girls are different. They think differently. They behave differently. Miss Cartinelli’s half nudity is more of a distraction to young men than Mr. Odinson’s is to young women.”

“That’s completely absurd!” Peggy exclaims. “And totally outdated and besides! _I’m_ bisexual and Angie’s a lesbian and neither of _us_ have ever complained about being” -- she throws up air quotes -- “ _distracted._ ”

“That may be, but as I’ve said, boys and girls are just different.”

“Well, maybe it’s time to stop using that as an excuse for allowing double standards and instead start holding everyone accountable for their own behavior.”

At first, Bucky doesn’t recognize the voice the statement’s come from, but the group over there turns and looks in his direction. Because, much to his horror, the voice belongs to _him_. The glands in his throat get tight and his chest hurts and Bucky can only stare back at Mr. Pierce when his eyes glare into his. 

“Mr. Barnes,” Mr. Pierce says. “I don’t believe this matter concerns you, does it?”

Oh, that… oh, that was so stupid of him. What was he thinking? Mr. Pierce is glaring at him and he probably didn’t even know he was there, but now he won’t look away as he waits for Bucky to answer his question. Bucky shakes his head. Tries to push a response past the hard lump that forms in his throat. 

“No, sir.”

“Then it’d be wiser to keep your opinions to yourself, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, sir,” he whispers. 

“As for your cute demonstration, children.” He’s turned his attention back to Peggy, Angie, and Loki. “While I appreciate your concern, I’m afraid your need for change is misguided and something you don’t fully understand.”

“But, Mr. Pierce…” Peggy tries to argue.

“You’ll get it when you’re older.”

With that closing statement, Mr. Pierce collects some papers and simply walks away. Leaves a very unsatisfied group of students behind him. 

The clipboard Peggy’s been holding that probably has all those signatures she got trembles in her hands.

“Hey,” Angie whispers. Rubs a hand over Peggy’s back and kisses her cheek. “It’s okay, English.” Angie calls Peggy English because she moved here from England when she was twelve and every now and then when Peggy gets very passionate about something, she sometimes slips into an accent. It’s cute. “You did great. Nobel prize worthy. S’not your fault he’s an old windbag.”

Loki gives an indignant huff and waves at the air like there’s something around him that’s going to infect his space.

“All this preparation gone to _waste_ ,” he complains. Shakes out his hair and turns on his heels. “When will anyone in this pit start to recognize real talent when they see it?” Loki’s just about to storm out the door when he stops and glances over his shoulder. “Hey, Peg?”

“Yeah?”

“Lemme know if you wanna try again.”

She gives him a salute.

“You mean _when_ I try again.”

He grins and nods. Tells her he’ll be even better for their next performance and then leaves. Once he’s gone, Bucky notices Angie staring at him.

“That’s was real cool of you, Bucks,” she tells him. “What you said and all.”

Her compliment not only makes Bucky blush, but it also grabs Peggy’s attention. Being shut down without even a second thought by Mr. Pierce seems to have made Peggy forget that Bucky said anything at all. Which is perfectly fine with Bucky. He’d much rather stay off the radar when it comes to things like this. Signing petitions is fine, but he doesn’t need to get on Mr. Pierce’s bad side. Any of his sides really.

“Oh, it was no big deal,” he replies anyway. “Sorry he wouldn’t listen to you guys.”

Peggy sighs and looks over her petition. 

“I wish there was some way to just _force_ him to listen. To make him _understand_ that I’m not trying to be hip or edgy.” Which is what some -- _a lot_ \-- of people think Peggy’s crusades to make changes to the dress code and offensive mascots and such think sometimes. So none of them will _care_ that Mr. Pierce has shot her down. Bucky knows it. Peggy knows it. She looks up and smiles at him. “But Angie’s right.” Angie shrugs like such a thing should be obvious. “It was nice of you to try to help.”

“I believe I said _cool_ ,” Angie teases. “I said it was real _cool_ of him.”

That makes Peggy laugh and pull Angie into her arms so she can tickle her and then kiss her when she tries to squirm away. He’s pretty sure Peggy says that she loves Angie -- which sorta melts his heart, but he’s not gonna admit that out loud in front of anyone, not here anyway -- as they move away before they get scolded for too much public display of affection. At the same time, the door of the office Bucky’s waiting to go into opens and out steps Mr. Coulson. Bucky’s stomach twists when he sees who’s been keeping Mr. Coulson busy. This must have been where Steve Rogers disappeared to from the cafeteria. Probably got in trouble. Again.

“Well, Mr. Rogers,” Mr. Coulson is saying. Then offers a handshake. “I’d like to see you here for reasons like this more often.”

Oh. Okay, maybe he _didn’t_ get in trouble this time. 

“Yeah,” Steve replies. “I’ll try my best.”

Mr. Coulson chuckles like Steve’s made a joke or something, but if that’s what happened Bucky doesn’t get the punchline.

“I’m sure you will.” Mr. Coulson looks at Bucky and Bucky keeps his eyes on him instead of letting them trail over to Steve. Steve might see him there or he might not. Or maybe he’ll just ignore him. Steve’s pretty fucking good at ignoring him. He’s had years of practice. “Ah, Mr. Barnes. Sorry for keeping you waiting. Just give me one second and I’ll be with you.”

“O-okay,” Bucky answers and watches as Mr. Coulson disappears further into the back offices. 

“Steven!” Peggy cries when he’s standing there alone.

Against Bucky’s will, his gaze drifts to Steve when she shouts for him. No matter. Steve’s already turning to look at her. A big smile spreads on his lips and he sucks on the piercing there.

“Hey, Peggy. What brings you here?”

Another surprising friend of Steve’s. Peggy Carter. The two of them actually dated two years ago. It was brief, but, from what Bucky saw of them, pretty serious. Steve liked her. Bucky could tell by the way he smiled at her and lit up when he saw her and even smiles and lights up at her now. 

She and Angie -- arm in arm -- speed on over to him. Once they’re in front of him, Steve holds a fist out and Angie bumps it with hers. Peggy leans in and kisses Steve’s cheek the same way Natasha might kiss Clint’s -- on the rare occasions she does. 

“I _was_ trying to get Mr. Pierce to listen to reason.”

Steve’s eyes roll and he lifts a middle finger in the air.

“Pierce and reason don’t go together.”

Well, they might not’ve talked in years, but Steve’s completely right about that. Mr. Pierce has his favorites and his good -- or wrong would be a better way to put it -- old-fashioned values. Sticks to them and them alone. 

“Tell me about it,” Angie says. Peggy laces their fingers together. “Peggy was brilliant and organized and countered everything he said and even Bucky--” Steve still doesn’t look at him “--chimed in and he _still_ wouldn’t listen.”

“So, how ‘bout it, Steve?” Peggy turns the clipboard around towards him. “Care to take a stand against the chauvinistic dress codes that are forced down our throats every day?”

“Pfft.” At first, Bucky thinks Steve might say no. But then he pumps a fist in the air and proclaims, “Right on!” He’s already signing. “ _Fuck_ the patriarchy!”

“Hey!” one of the ladies in the office scolds.

Even though his back is to her, Steve holds up a finger and says, “ _Language_. I know.”

She sorta smiles, sorta rolls her eyes and goes back to doing whatever she was doing before Steve started swearing. 

“Steve?” Steve glances over at Mr. Coulson. Now back from wherever he went. “I believe Mr. Phillips is expecting you for American History right about now. And I think it’s time you girls get back to lunch, hm? Bucky?” He waves him over.

Bucky stands. He waves to Peggy and Angie -- who are planning how to storm Mr. Pierce’s office as they leave -- and goes to step towards the office he’s been waiting all day to get to and dreading all day to get to. At the very same time, Steve takes a step towards the door behind Bucky. They freeze. Steve stares at Bucky. Waits for him to get out of the way. Bucky might have him by almost a foot, but he just stares back at him. Steve ends up rolling his eyes like Bucky’s done something to annoy him and goes to the door on the other end of the office. 

Sighing, Bucky scrubs palms over his face and shoves Steve out of his mind. There’re more important things to worry about right now. One of them happens to include this meeting with Mr. Coulson.

“Okay, have a seat, Bucky,” Mr. Coulson tells him. “And we’ll get started.”

Bucky does. He sits down on the other side of Mr. Coulson’s desk and takes a glimpse around the office. On the walls and bookshelves are some typical things one would find in the office of the assistant principal. Diplomas and certificates. All framed and laminated and professional looking. There’re books of course. Thick, reference looking books and books on child psychology and modern discipline and stuff. Some pictures are hanging on the wall of Mr. Coulson with some of the other staff and teachers. One with him and Principal Fury accepting an award. On his desk is one of him and some woman playing the cello.

What one _wouldn’t_ expect to find in Mr. Coulson’s office are all the comic book collectibles. There all from this 1940s comics that were basically war propaganda and completely cornball and goofy, but were also a pretty big deal back then. Boosted morale and gave people hope or something. Mr. Coulson has posters on the wall and editions of the comics mixed in with his books and a full set of trading card that he’s never afraid to boast about how they’re mint condition. 

At first, Bucky thought the whole thing was just a set up to make him appear more relatable to the students he was in charge of, given the revamp of the character made him pretty popular again. Make himself seem down and cool and hip in that weird sorta way. The more Bucky learned about Mr. Coulson as the years in the school went on, the more he realized it wasn’t an act, and that weird sorta way is just how Mr. Coulson is. And in some weird sorta way he _is_ cool. 

He jokes around with everyone -- in that stiff, grown-up way that he _knows_ he’s a grown up and doesn’t _try_ to be a kid with them. So it’s easier to talk to him. When he’s available to talk. He’s a busy guy. Always going around doing something for the school. Like last year, he helped keep the music department from being defunded. So now they still have a music department. 

“So, how’s the year going, Bucky? New semester treating you well?”

“Uh…” Mr. Coulson is doing something on his computer. Looking for Bucky’s file, he assumes. “Yeah, I guess, sir. So far.”

“That’s good to hear.” He’s looking at his screen from over the top of his glasses which is strange cause Bucky’s pretty sure they’re _reading_ glasses. “The basketball team is doing well, huh?”

“Mhm.” If they don’t get on with this, Bucky might burst. He seriously might just explode into a million pieces right there. “Might go all the way this year.”

“I’ll be there, front and center, cheering you boys on,” he says. 

Great. Seriously, that’s super nice of him and all, but Bucky’s heart is actually pounding right now. He knows this is totally ridiculous, but all he wants to be able to do today is go home with the news his parents are hoping for. To let them know their excited build-up hasn’t been for nothing. That he didn’t let them down and his sisters still have a brother they can look up to and all his friends’ encouragement hasn’t been a waste. 

“Let’s see here.” Mr. Coulson finally looks away from the computer and places his clasped hands on the desk. “Looks like Ms. Gray helped you apply to a number of Ivy League schools. Harvard’s your top school?”

Ever since seventh grade. That’s their goal. Or, well, that’s Bucky’s goal. They’ve mapped everything out together. He and his parents. Everything starts with getting into Harvard to study political science and from there law school. It’s gonna be perfect. 

Bucky nods. “Yes, sir. I haven’t heard from them yet, but I got into Columbia and Brown. Still waiting to hear from a few others, too.” 

“Any school would be lucky to have you. So.” Mr. Coulson drops a file onto his desk. “As you probably know, we’ve been busy calculating the senior class’s class ranking.”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky doesn’t know why he plays dumb. Everyone knows what’s going on. “How’s that going?”

Mr. Coulson chuckles like he’s not fooled. 

“Fairly well, actually. You scored exceptionally high on your SATs. One of the highest in your grade.” _That_ Bucky actually didn’t know. The highest in the grade part. “Between that and your past grade point average, you’re very, _very_ high in your class ranking. Your current GPA -- not to mention the extra grades from the extra classes you’ve decided to take this year -- put your pretty high in the running. But it’s not just your grades that we take into consideration. We look at any of your extracurricular activities and any volunteer work that you’ve done over the past few years. And, from your records, you’ve got a lot here which, well, it puts you pretty high in the running.” 

They go on to discuss Bucky’s involvement in activities over the years--the student council and the honor’s society, the drama club and jr varsity and varsity teams, and Key Club and Brothers and Sisters _and_ Habitat for Humanity. That’s only some of them. Bucky’s been sure to join a few others throughout the years. Mostly academic and getting involved in the community. Things that padded his Harvard application. Some that’ve just been for him. The writing club, back in ninth grade. The yearbook club this year. 

“So, with your grades and your extracurriculars,” Mr. Coulson goes on, “it puts you high enough that it took _quite_ a while for us to narrow it down. Between you and three other students, it was just a few points between you all. How’re your parents?”

“What?”

The sudden shift from grade point averages and extracurricular activities to his fucking parents can mean only one thing. Mr. Coulson is stalling. Trying to find a way to soften the blow. Bucky feels like he’s been punched. Right in the stomach and he’s fighting the urge to cry. 

“Your parents. How are they?”

“They’re… they’re good.”

“Your mom works for one of the universities, yes?”

“NYU,” Bucky whispers.

“You applied there, too, didn’t you?” Bucky nods. Mr. Coulson grins. “Probably seeking out that good ol’ favoritism, right?”

A ghost of a smile feathers along Bucky’s mouth. 

“Nepotism, sir.”

“Hm.” Mr. Coulson rattles his head with a grin and does something else on his computer. “Trying to show me up, over here. I guess that’s something I can expect from this year’s valedictorian, though.”

It’s quiet for a moment. Those words circle around Bucky. Remaining oblivious to him for another moment or two before sinking in with vivid clarity and once again Bucky’s heart is pounding.

“Wh-what did you say?”

Mr. Coulson smiles and pushes a bowl of hard candies on his desk closer to Bucky. Bucky assumes that means he’s meant to take one and he does, but he just turns it over in his fingers.

“Relax, Bucky. And congratulations.”

“You… you mean…”

“That’s right.” That smile grows even wider. “You’re this year’s valedictorian.”

Again, it’s quiet for another moment. This time because, while that was the news Bucky was desperate to hear, he can’t quite believe he’s actually heard it. The room gets a little blurry around him and he feels a little lightheaded. It’s only when his chest gets a bit tight that he realizes he’s holding his breath and has actually cupped his hand over his mouth because, yeah, he might burst into tears. This time for the opposite reason. 

Without commenting on the ridiculous tears that are the source of Bucky’s sudden fuzzy vision, Mr. Coulson hands him a tissue. From what Bucky can tell, he’s still smiling. He might even say something about Bucky taking a moment to absorb that, but hell, even if Mr. Coulson _wanted_ the meeting to continue on from here, Bucky wouldn’t be able to participate in much of it. He sorta feels like he’s flying right now. Because Bucky gets to go home today and not let his parents down. He gets to tell them that their only son is his senior class’s valedictorian. That he has an even _better_ chance at getting into one of those ivy league schools they think is best for him. 

This is good. Oh, this is so good. Maybe, if he makes them proud enough, then _if_ they find out that he’s… that he… well, that he’s not what they think he is, they can remember all of this. He’s made them proud. They can be proud of him. Hopefully, no matter what. 

And yet he's blubbering like he's received the worst news in his whole life. He literally cannot get a grip. Big, fat tears plummet from Bucky's eyes and his hands tremble as he fumbles with tissue after tissue. 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky murmurs with an added chuckle at the end of his statement as he wipes the latest tissue across his eyes. “I dunno what’s wrong with me.”

“No, no, don’t apologize, son,” Mr. Coulson says. “You’ve worked very hard to earn this for yourself. It's a lot to take it. You deserve to feel proud. To be happy. Take a minute. Let me know when you’re ready.”

Bucky nods and does that. He keeps wiping at his eyes and then blows his nose -- cause, ew, gross -- and finally tosses the last tissue away. He sucks in a deep breath and then grins at Mr. Coulson.

“Okay,” he whispers. “I’m good now.”

Still wearing that big -- and, admittedly, proud -- smile, Mr. Coulson gives Bucky a thumbs up and offers another piece of candy, even though Bucky’s still holding the first. 

“All righty then.” Mr. Coulson claps his hands once. “First of all, congratulations, Bucky.” Bucky grins and thanks him. “Mr. Fury will be sending a signed letter home to your parents and a personal congratulatory letter to you. You’ll take a picture with him at the Senior dinner for the yearbook.”

Mr. Fury, the school’s principal, is one of the most badass guy’s Bucky’s ever known. The _rumor_ is that he’s a former secret agent of some undercover branch of the CIA or something, which is -- according to the rumor -- how he lost his eye. Another rumor is that he got an infection from a cat scratch. He’s really big on having each class think of each other as a family both in and out of school.

“You protect your family,” he announced at Freshman orientation. “You support and encourage your family. Look at all the people around you. When you’re all together? When you’re in _this_ building and, hopefully out of it, they are your family.” 

Obviously, it’s still high school and cliques still form and kids stick to who and what they know, but Bucky can’t deny that sometimes they really _do_ feel like a family.

Mr. Fury also takes shit from literally _no one_ and that includes faculty and staff, even from _other_ schools. In fact, about three years ago, during a basketball game, the coach of the other team not only _ignored_ Mr. Fury when he requested that he remove his hat while in the school, he then went on to _mock_ him for even asking. Right in front of students, teachers, and parents. Within a week, that coach was looking for another job. 

So, yeah, needless to say, having Mr. Fury’s stamp of approval and a letter from him, no matter how obsolete that’ll be a few months from now, is pretty fucking cool. 

“Now, I’m sure you’re already aware that you’ll be giving a speech at graduation,” Mr. Coulson says. Good thing Bucky’s taking Public Speaking this semester. “But you’ll _also_ be giving a speech at the Senior dinner.” Oh. Well, that’s brand new information. That dinner’s not all that far away. “Don’t worry, it doesn’t have to be as grand of a speech as for graduation. Just a little something to get the evening started and to give your class a bit of motivation as the school year…” The phone ringing cuts him off. It must be an in-office call since Mr. Coulson frowns at it and just picks it up saying, “Joyce, I’m in with…” He pauses and, whatever it is Joyce says seems to confuse him. “How… how is that even possible? He was just…” He sighs and rubs his fingers into his eyes. “No, no, they can’t expel him. If he’s expelled, he’ll be sent…” As if just remembering he’s not in his office alone, Mr. Coulson peeks at Bucky and cuts himself off. “Just… tell Alex to wait. I’ll be out in a minute.” He hangs up the phone and, for a second, Bucky thinks he looks completely exhausted. But Mr. Coulson recovers quickly and gives him his best smile. “Sorry. Where were we?”

Bucky can’t deny that he admires Mr. Coulson. Whatever that phone call was about definitely rattled him. He has no doubt that right now, Mr. Coulson would much rather be dealing with that issue than be in here with Bucky. But he’s still smiling and devoting all of his -- or as much as he can -- attention on Bucky’s achievement. 

“Um… the speech,” Bucky murmurs. “At the senior dinner.”

“Right, right. So, it’s just to inspire and motivate your classmates for the rest of the school year. Nothing, what do you kids say these days? Epic?”

Bucky snickers. 

“Yeah.”

“So, don’t worry about that. Save the _epic_ for graduation. You’ll be, uh…” Mr. Coulson pulls out a file and puts it to the side. “You’ll be receiving a formal invitation to the dinner. On it, you’ll be named as your class’s valedictorian. Which means we’ll need you to fill out a form with the correct spelling of your name and, of course, how you’d like to be introduced.”

“You mean, I get to choose?”

“Choose?”

“My name?”

“Oh.” Mr. Coulson shakes his head. “Sure. Within reason, of course. And, by reason, I mean you can go by James Barnes or James B. Barnes, Bucky Barnes… something along those lines. You get it.”

“Right. No Sergeant Awesome Barnes, then.”

“I’m afraid not,” he chuckles. “Right, so, I think that covers most of it. Just, um, you can get the form for your invitation from Mr. Pierce.” Of course. “And if you have any questions you can always come see me.” Mr. Coulson is already standing. “Oh. Do you have any questions for me now?”

Yes, actually he does. Bucky would like to know if his sisters are able to come to the dinner, too, and he knows that’s probably a simple yes or no, but Mr. Coulson probably wants to hurry this along so he can take care of whatever it was he got called about. Bucky’ll ask another time. So he just shakes his head and thanks him.

“Of course!” Mr. Coulson is writing out a late pass for Bucky since he’ll be asked for one when he gets back to the cafeteria or goes to the library even though this is Bucky’s free period. “And congratulations, Mr. Barnes! I hope you’re feeling very proud. You should be.”

At the moment, Bucky’s more relieved than proud, but he’s sure the latter will show up eventually.

“Thank you, sir.”

They’re exiting Mr. Coulson’s office together, and Mr. Coulson offers him a handshake. Bucky accepts and thanks him again for delivering the good news. It sounds like Mr. Coulson gives him one more congratulatory remark, but it gets caught off with a sort of sigh when he looks out at the main office. Bucky follows his gaze and knows what he’s looking at.

There’s someone else sitting in the exact seat at the table Bucky had been in before. Steve Rogers. Bucky knows it’s Steve even without seeing his face. And since his head is down on the desk and pillowed in folded arms, Bucky can’t see his face at all. But Bucky would recognize that hoodie anywhere. Steve is pretty much attached to it. 

It looks like Steve trying to sleep. Like whatever he’s here for doesn’t make a difference to him at all. Even though _next_ to Steve, is Mr. Pierce who, upon seeing Mr. Coulson step out of his office with Bucky, nudges Steve’s arms off the table and causes him to jerk upright. And Bucky knows exactly why Steve’s back again. Steve’s face is all busted up. A bloody tissue is stuffed in one nostril -- not soon enough to keep the blood from first staining over his lips -- and the piercing in his right eyebrow is bleeding. His left eye is swollen and he’s sucking on his lip since that’s probably bleeding too, given the drying blood around his chin. A bruise is already forming around his left cheekbone. 

Steve’s been in another fight. 

Bucky scoffs. He doesn’t really mean to. After all, Steve is sitting there all banged up. He’s got that bad fucking asthma of his and all these fights can’t be good for his blood pressure or his arrhythmia. So, yeah, Bucky doesn’t mean to scoff, but he does because _once again_ Steve Rogers is all beat up cause he had to start some shit when just twenty minutes ago he was practically telling Mr. Coulson that he was going to try to _avoid_ this kinda stuff. 

When Bucky scoffs though, Steve shoots him a glare something fierce and, oops, he hadn’t meant to make the sound so loud. Plus, that was kinda rude of him especially since now that Steve doesn’t have his head down the desk, he no longer appears indifferent. Actually, if Bucky didn’t know any better, he might even look a little nervous. Well, he did. Before Bucky gave him a reason to glare at him. 

Bucky stretches his lips in apology. Steve just looks away. 

“C’mon, Steve,” Mr. Coulson says from next to Bucky. Waving him on over. “Let’s go.”

Steve pushes his chair out and doesn’t bother pushing it back in when he goes to follow Mr. Coulson. Mr. Pierce follows and Bucky scoots out of the way so that they can get by.

“Does _he_ really need to come?” Steve mumbles as he goes into Mr. Coulson’s office.

“Keep being so disrespectful,” Mr. Pierce warns. “See what happens. As the Dean of Students, it’s my _job_ to make sure troublemakers like you are taken care of.”

“Enough,” Mr. Coulson states. “Steve, if you want to avoid getting sent--”

The door closes then and Bucky doesn’t catch the rest of Mr. Coulson’s statement. Bucky stands there for a second, staring at the office he can no longer see into. He doesn’t know why. All he’s doing it watching imitation wood and it just watches him back sorta mocking him since it knows he’s a lot more curious about what’s going on on the other side of it than he should be and it won’t let him see. 

It doesn’t matter. Whatever’s going on in there is absolutely _none_ of his business and Bucky doesn’t want it to be anyway. He’s just gotten one of the best pieces of news in his life. In fact, he should text his mom and dad right now, but he won’t since he really wants to see their faces.

Bucky’s leaving the office -- leaving the closed door behind him -- and stepping out into the hall when he hears, “Psst.”

The subtle call for him has Bucky glancing up at the boy’s room right across from him. There’s an arm sticking out of it. Finger curling and beckoning him to come in. There are a dozen rubber bracelets around the wrist and an arrow ring on the middle finger and what the hell is Clint up to? Bucky rolls his eyes with a smile and, crosses the hall to go over there. The second he’s close, rather than letting him enter on his own, Clint grabs hold of his shirt and pulls him in there with him. And Clint’s not alone. He’s got an accomplice. Or a partner in crime since Natasha is just sitting on the sinks. Smirking at him. 

“What’re you guys doing in here?” Bucky asks.

It’s not smoking. For one, Natasha doesn’t smoke and would certainly never undignify herself by sneaking into the boy’s room to have one anyway. Clint does smoke, but there’s no evidence of anyone smoking in here other than two seniors loitering. 

Clint just answers that with a question. “So?”

Bucky looks between the two of them. 

“So… what?”

“Did ya get it?!” Clint exclaims. “Did ya, did ya?”

Holding back a grin, Bucky shrugs and acts like he doesn’t know a damn thing when really he wants to leap into his friends’ arms. 

“I dunno,” he says. “I might have.”

“Yeah, you got it,” Clint says. Looks over his shoulder at Tasha who’s now laughing. “He got it.” Clint looks back at Bucky. “You got it, right?”

Bucky chuckles.

“Yeah, I got it.”

Clint shouts in excitement and scoops Bucky up in his arms. Wraps Bucky up by pinning Bucky’s arms to his sides and lifting and he spins them around twice before setting Bucky back down on his feet. The second he’s standing on his own again, a new pair of arms are around him, coming from behind and this time wrapping around his shoulders.

“I told you,” Tasha says. “Didn’t I tell you? Lemme hear you say it.”

“You told me,” Bucky snickers. “Did you guys really wait in here just for me?”

If they did, that means they both cut class just to do so. Clint shrugs and hops up to sit where Tasha was -- falls first and has to try again.

“Who needs to be in Forensics--” the science class both of them cut “--when their best friend might be getting some of the coolest news in their life? The coolest news, by the way, that said _so-called_ best friend _didn’t_ tell me about.”

Bucky sorta whines and leans back into Tasha’s embrace as if hoping for some sort of protection there. All she does is snicker. 

“Sorry?” Bucky offers. Then realizes he needs to offer more than that. An explanation of some sort because while Clint may play off the whole nonchalant, everything-rolls-off-his-shoulders attitude like a pro, Bucky can still tell that he’s hurt. This is not a big enough deal that Clint’ll make it into a big deal, but he’s still hurt and Bucky feels bad. “I-I’m sorry, Clint. My parents were makin’ such a fuss over it and I just… if I _didn’t_ get it… I dunno, dude. I just didn’t want it to be a _thing_ , y’know? Have everyone be, like, ‘oh, Bucky, you’re totes gonna get it’ and then if it turned out I didn’t get it be all ‘oh, shit, Bucky, sorry, it’s okay though you’re still awesome’.” 

Sometime during his rambling, Clint cracked a smile and crossed his arms. He gave a tap at his ear like he was trying to fix his hearing aid -- now that he actually _wears_ them like he’s supposed to --as if hearing something so unbelievable he had to check to make sure they were working. 

“ _What_?” Bucky whines. Even jerks his knee. “What’d I do?”

“You would still be awesome,” Clint says. Then points out, “You told Nat.”

“Uh, he did _not_ tell Nat,” Tasha counters. “His _parents_ told Nat. Pretty sure we’d both be in the dark I hadn’t heard it from them.”

“Aw, c’mon!” Bucky smothers his face with his hands. “I’m sorry! I am! You want me to grovel?”

They’d make him do it, too. Grovel for a while and kiss their asses because they’re a pair of assholes who love him to pieces and what better way to show that than knowing they can be a bunch of assholes to each other? 

“Hm. What do you think, Nat?” Clint asks. “Do we let ‘im off the hook?”

Though he’s got his head resting back on Tasha’s shoulder, Bucky takes a glimpse at her. Her tongue pushes at the inside of her cheek and she eyes him suspiciously. Like she suspects him of something else, even though _she’s_ the one who knows pretty much everything anyway. 

But she kisses his cheek and says, “I guess we have no choice. It’s his day to celebrate.”

“Aw, you’re the best,” Bucky says. 

“And don’t you forget it.”

They end up spending the last half of the period in the restroom and ultimately decide that this weekend will be Bucky’s weekend. Once they leave the restroom the news that Bucky’s their valedictorian is free reign for them to share with anyone, so by the end of next period pretty much everyone will know. 

“Tony’s party’s gonna be freakin’ killer,” Clint decides as they leave just when the bell rings. “We’re gonna have an awesome time and if _you_ two want some _alone_ time, you know Tony’s place will have adequate room for that.”

Clint nudges Bucky’s ribs with his elbow. A playful, suggestive gesture that also has him wiggling his eyebrows at the two of them. He’s also completely unaware of the way he’s making Bucky’s stomach twist and turns and fall. It’s times like these that catch Bucky completely off guard. He never knows how to respond. What to say. How to act. Which is crazy. Bucky knows how couples behave and he’s _been_ in relationships before and _all_ of them have been with girls, and yet situations like this leave him tongue-tied. Makes him feel as though everyone can see right through the lie and are just saying things like that to get him to fuck up.

Good thing Natasha doesn’t seem to have that problem at all. Since she shoves an elbow into Clint’s ribs and tells him to stuff it and shut up. Tossing his hands up in defeat, Clint chuckles and tells Bucky he’ll see him in gym.

“Are you all right?” Tasha murmurs when it’s just the two of them. 

Sometimes it amazes him how well she knows him. 

“Uh-ha.” They’re walking together. Headed to the same government class which is the only one they happen to share other than lunch. Which Bucky’s grateful for. “I’m fine. Dunno why that stuff messes me up so much.”

“Because,” she says. “You’re a decent liar.” Natasha takes hold of his hand and kisses him like it’s nothing. Bucky has no problems with that. The affection between them might be a show, but it’s also not fake. Their love is real. It’s just not the love people think. “But you don’t like lying about this.”

She’s right. Bucky’s not some lying mastermind or anything, but he can spin a believable yarn when necessary. This, though, this is different. Bucky’s essentially putting on a show to lie about who he is. And what’s worse, he’s gotten Tasha involved. It’s made his parents happy to see them as a couple and it’s made _her_ parents happy to see them as a couple. Bucky can’t imagine the amazing disappointment they’d feel if they found out it was all a lie. Just a fabrication that Bucky invented for his own use. How would the Romanoffs feel if they found out he basically _used_ their daughter. 

“James?” Tasha says. “Bucky, are you sure--”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I’m fine.”

“You should be. We might have to wait till the weekend to really celebrate, but today is still _your_ day.” They’ve just reached their class and she pokes him in the side. Just the right spot that makes him yelp a laugh and jerk away. “Got it, Valedictorian?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Bucky chuckles and swings an arm over her shoulders. “Don’t worry. _Nothing’s_ gonna bring me down today.” 

 

Bucky needs to learn to keep his mouth shut. He really does. Seriously, what was he thinking saying that to Natasha? _Nothing’s gonna bring me down today_? He might have well have just said _what could go wrong_. And then let the universe take one good look at him and answer back with one mighty swoop. Which is exactly what’s happened. Right smack in the middle of eighth period when Peter Parker -- a quiet kid permanently attached to his camera -- comes in with a pass for Bucky to return to Mr. Coulson’s office. 

He didn’t have to wait this time. As soon as he gets there, the lady at the front desk tells Mr. Coulson Bucky is there and he’s welcomed right on in. Now, he’s sitting across from the assistant principal again and even _more_ nervous than he was when he was here before.

“You’re not gonna take it back, right?” Bucky asks before Mr. Coulson can say anything other than welcoming him back.

He means it as a joke. Bucky’s fairly sure that he hasn’t been called down because some mistake has been made and he’s no longer valedictorian. But fairly sure isn’t absolutely sure so there’s a part of him that’s shaking like crazy. Convinced that’s exactly why he’s here.

“What?” Mr. Coulson shakes his head and then chuckles. “You mean you being valedictorian? No, no. Of course, not. I, uh, I wanted to talk to you about the peer mediation group.”

That’s pretty much the last thing Bucky expected to hear. He hasn’t been involved with the peer mediation group since sophomore year. 

“Oh.” Bucky’s a bit more relaxed now. An internal sigh of relief has him loosening up, the tension in his shoulders melting immediately. “Okay?”

“From what I understand, you took the courses to be a peer mediator? You were pretty active for a bit?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

Actually, that year Bucky spent a lot of time working with Peter Parker. He’d been having trouble with Eugene Thompson who had been picking on him since probably as long as Peter could remember. Rather than working with the two of them together -- since Eugene wouldn’t come to the meetings anyway -- Bucky helped Peter come up with ways to stand up for himself without resorting to violence. Which he ended up doing. Peter engaged Eugene in a real conversation about Peter’s uncle -- who died the year before after raising Peter with Peter’s aunt -- and it actually worked. To be honest, Bucky was totally shocked that it did. The only reason he joined peer mediation and took the courses was to be able to add it to his college applications. It’s not really something he believes in. Not believing in it is one of the reasons he hasn’t been active in it. 

“Is there a specific reason you haven’t been involved with it these past two years?”

Of course, Bucky’s not about to tell Mr. Coulson that he thinks the entire thing is a load of crap and that the fact that it _may_ have worked the one time he helped someone utilized the program was probably just a fluke. So he shrugs and says he’s not sure.

“Just been busy with other stuff, I guess. Y’know, football and basketball and Big Brothers and Habitats for Humanities, uh, the spring play.”

Those other curricular activities and programs that he doesn’t feel the need to bring up now since he’s pretty sure Mr. Coulson gets the idea.

“Yes, yes, I understand. You’re a very busy young man.” Mr. Coulson grins. “Bucky, I was wondering, though, if maybe you’d be interested in picking it up again.”

“Oh, I, uh, I don’t know. I mean, I got basketball practice after school most days and--”

“I’ve already talked to Coach Summers. He’s okay with you missing the first half hour and that’s all we’re talking about here. Just thirty minutes after school a few times a week. You see, there’s someone who could really use some help and I… well, I think you could help. If he gets into another fight I can’t keep Mr. Pierce from expelling him. If he gets expelled he…” Looks like Mr. Coulson physically cuts himself off there. As though he’s forgotten that Bucky’s a student and not a colleague. He probably shouldn’t even have said as much as he has. “If you’re not up to it, it’s okay. I can find someone else. I just think you’d really be able to help him out.”

This sounds like it must be a pretty big deal for Mr. Coulson. Just for him to talk to Coach Summers already is enough to show how serious about this he is. Add his sudden rambling to that and Bucky’s sure of it. 

“Well… who is it? Who do you want me to work with?”

“He’s in your grade. Steve Rogers? I’m sure you know him.”

The room shrinks to half the size. Like all the walls close in on him. Bucky’s blood runs cold. It had to be Steve Rogers.

“I…” His throat feels too tight. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

The look on Mr. Coulson’s face makes Bucky think he feels like he’s been punched in the gut. As if Bucky saying no to this is a huge setback in his plans. 

“I know that Steve might be a bit rough around the edges, but he’s really a good kid. I think the two of you could actually be very good friends if you gave it a chance.”

Yeah. Bucky thought that once, too.

“Mr. Coulson…”

“It’ll look really good for your college interviews if you’re currently volunteering for the program. And…” And now Mr. Coulson looks a little desperate. “It’s all right though. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel pressured. Don’t worry about it, it’s fine.”

“I-I’m sorry. I just…”

“Oh, no, Bucky, it’s okay. I’ll just find someone else to do it.”

Someone else to do it. That’s for the best, and Bucky knows it. Mr. Coulson tells him that it’s okay again and starts to write him a pass to go back to class. He even thanks him for coming. As he does that, Bucky tries to think who else is in the peer mediation group that could help Steve. The only ones that Bucky thinks Steve counts as friends in this school are Quill, Sam, and Peggy. Oh, and Peggy’s sister, Sharon. Then, Angie, too. None of them are in the program. In fact, the program isn’t all that big. Now there are even fewer seniors, and Steve’s probably gonna be pissed sitting there with someone in his own grade. Having someone a grade below is never gonna work. There’s Reed Richards, but Bucky doubts he’ll be any help to Steve. And Dottie Underwood. But she hangs out with Rumlow and Hodge and their gang. Completely two-faced. Sweet as sugar one minute and then stabbing the knife down when it suits her best. Steve’ll never go for it. 

“Mr. Coulson?” Bucky says as he’s about to leave. The pass he has is crushed in his sweaty palm. He has no idea why the next part comes out of his mouth when Mr. Coulson looks up. But it does. “I’ll do it.”

“What?”

“I’ll do it. I mean--” He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. “I’ll work with Steve.”

“Oh. Bucky, you don’t have to do that. If you’re uncomfortable or for whatever reason, it’s okay…”

“No, look.” Bucky sits back down. He has no freaking clue why he’s doing this. None. This is a bad idea. A really bad idea. “I know Steve. Or, at least, I did. When we were younger. He’s not gonna work with anyone else in our grade. I doubt he’ll even work with me, but, _maybe_ he will. And if he’s really that close to getting expelled…”

All Bucky can do is shrug. Yeah, Steve might be a pain in the ass and nothing like the kid Bucky knew so long ago, but he can’t just let him be expelled. Even if he brought it upon himself. 

Mr. Coulson watches him for a moment. Almost as if he’s giving Bucky time to change his mind. Which Bucky should. He should run out that door and never look back rather than agree to this. Steve Rogers? What is he thinking? But Bucky doesn’t back out, and a soft smile breaks across Mr. Coulson’s face. 

“You’re a good kid, Bucky. A really good kid. Thank you.”

A good kid. Right. Well, this good kid just went from having the day of his life to wondering what the hell he did to deserve this.


	4. Peer Mediation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky starts his brand new job with an impossible Steve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _trigger warnings for homophobic sentiments and behavior_

The weight room isn’t as crowded as Bucky would have hoped it would be. A lot more people opted to play badminton in gym class today than go there. Fortunately, the people Bucky wanted to talk to have joined him. Sam and Clint. Unfortunately, so have some of the people Bucky would rather not have around at all to overhear what he has to say. Rumlow is working with Georges Batroc, another member of his and Hodge’s little crew. 

Sam’s given Bucky hugs and high fives in congratulations for him getting picked for valedictorian. As much as he appreciates it, Bucky’s new after-school responsibility seems to overshadow that. 

Bucky’s with Sam and Clint over at the butterfly arms. Rumlow is at the leg rollers with his friend Batroc. Batroc is the captain of the wrestling team and once thought it’d be hilarious to try to tape two Freshmen together and then later get them to take the blame for themselves. There’re a few others in there with them, but Bucky still needs to maintain low volumes in order not to be overheard. 

“Hey, Sam?” Bucky says, softly. 

“Yeah?” Sam breathes out as he pulls his arms in again. 

“So, you’re, uh, you’re kinda chummy with Steve Rogers, right?”

Sam takes a moment to do a few more reps before answering. He nods first. 

“Yeah.”

Bucky’s trying to keep up with Sam and Clint. He moves his arms in the general motions, but never actually completes a rep. 

“Why?”

“Why what?”

Bucky hesitates. Wants to keep this as nonchalant a possible which is very difficult considering he’s brought up Steve Rogers out of nowhere. 

“Why’re you, like, y’know, friends with him?”

“With Steve?”

“Uh-ha.”

Sam releases his hold on the handlebars and snatches up the towel he’s been using. He wipes the sweat from across the back of the neck and takes a drink from his bottle of water. 

“I dunno, man. S’like I said at lunch. He’s not so bad.”

Bucky sighs when Sam glances over at him. He tries to avoid his friend’s gaze, knowing damn well this topic of conversation is not exactly typical. Sam might ask why they’re talking about this and Bucky’s not so sure he wants to tell anyone. For more than one reason. While he’s not thrilled about having to spend time with Steve as his peer mediator, he’s not so sure it’s really his place to tell anyone that Steve is gonna be in the program. That’s Steve’s business. 

“Do you remember him from when we were younger?” Bucky questions. 

Sam shrugs.

“Not really. Didn’t see him all that much then.”

Which makes sense since Sam went to a different school at the time. The most Sam would have seen Steve was the bit they all got to play at the park together. Come the cold weather, that wasn’t much. While plenty of other kids braved the winter months and still went to the playground to play, Steve was stuck inside. His lungs and immune system too weak to allow him the chance to be outdoors. The bout with pneumonia that year alone was bad enough. That one put him in the hospital for a week. Bucky spent most of that winter indoors, too. With Steve. 

“So, has he ever said anything about… me?”

“Who? Steve?”

“Yeah.”

“No. Not that I know of.”

Bucky’s not sure how to feel about that. On one hand, at least Steve hasn’t been talking shit about him. At least not to Sam. So he doesn’t have to dance around that this afternoon. On the other hand, Steve’s utter and total indifference towards Bucky makes his heart twist in painful ways. It shouldn’t. But it does. 

“Who’re we talking about?” Bucky rolls his eyes as Rumlow and his friend ease on over towards them. “Anyone good?”

“Steve,” Sam answers absently. When he realizes he’s just told Rumlow something he wouldn’t have if he’d been paying attention, his lips set in a line. “And we’re not _talking_ about him.” He gives Rumlow a glare. “Bucky was just asking about him.”

“Steve? Steve Rogers?” Batroc questions. “Isn’t that the kid who disappeared or something?”

“Our very own urban legend,” Clint comments. Voice on edge. Bucky’s not sure if he’s been listening the whole time, but he can recognize the tone. It’s clear he doesn’t approve of the sudden company. Neither does Bucky. Neither does Sam for that matter. In fact, Clint goes out of his way to keep his back to them and only speak to Bucky and Sam. “Here one minute, gone the next, and then back again.”

Clint makes it sound so simple. Bucky wishes it was. But he can remember that day like it was yesterday. Going to the small, one bedroom apartment where Steve lived with his mom on Steve’s birthday. With a small, lopsided cake that Bucky made a complete mess of his kitchen trying to make and ended up having melted frosting on half of it. Only to get there and find that the Rogers’ place had been completely emptied. 

Things had been a little weird with Steve since before school even ended. He’d been sitting by himself instead of with everyone during lunch and even sitting out during recess. Not wanting to come to playdates or canceling when they had one scheduled. Even not returning phone calls. But Bucky figured it was just nerves. They were graduating from grade school and starting middle school the next year. Things had been rough enough for Steve at the start of that year -- what with starting public school for the first time ever and even skipping a grade at that. Plus, with Bucky going out for football and other sports, he’d been pretty busy going to meetings and making plans with Clint and Rhodey and Pietro, sometimes even Brock and Gilmore, and maybe Steve had been feeling left out. 

But he was just… gone. No phone call. No warning. Never a letter or an email. Nothing. Steve and his mom were just gone. It was so confusing. Bucky had been sure he and Steve would get past whatever had been bothering Steve. They may not have been friends for _that_ long, but he really thought they’d gotten close. Close enough that Bucky really thought they were best friends. People even acknowledged them as such. Sure, Natasha and Clint were already Bucky's besties, but there was something different about being with Steve. They clicked in every way, even in ways they _didn't_ get along. There was something special between them. 

But then Steve was gone. He just vanished. And after some time, Bucky had no choice. He just… moved on. 

“Who the fuck cares anyway?” Rumlow grunts. “Kid was a freak back in the day and still is. Should’ve stayed wherever he went.”

Bucky feels his throat tighten when Rumlow goes on to call Steve a homo. It’s almost even worse seeing how Steve is openly bisexual. Open because he was outed. By Brock Rumlow. Of course, most of the guys, hell, even some of the girls, insist that Steve is actually gay. Cause, according to them, dudes can’t be bi. Bucky doesn’t really blame Steve for popping Rumlow for that one or being cool with Quill for getting involved. All three of them ended up taking a good beating for that one, even though it was Steve and Quill that took the suspension while Rumlow got a week’s detention. Bucky can remember both Steve and Quill returning to school still all busted up but walking in like they were floating on top of the world. Even Bucky wished he could’ve shared in that sort of triumph. To take a swing at Rumlow that time. Even if he got his ass kicked. Even if he got in trouble. Just to be able to walk back into school with Steve by his side knowing he did the right thing. 

He still does. 

And he has no idea why.

Bucky throws a glare at Rumlow when he makes another nasty remark and Batroc and him share a high-five. As if Rumlow’s made some clever and witty pun that deserves praise when all he’s really done is made _another_ derogatory slur. 

“Hey, Rum?” Clint says as he starts another set of reps. “What year is it?”

“Huh?”

“The year? I was wondering if you knew that we were in the year 2019 or not.”

Rumlow stares at Clint like he’s grown another head or something. 

“Yeah, I know the fucking year. What of it?”

“I dunno. Maybe by now, you’d know it’s fuckin’ gross to say shit like that.”

“Shit like what?”

“The homophobic bullshit you’re always spouting? It’s fuckin’ gross.”

“Don’t like it?” Rumlow grunts and steps up closer. “Don’t fuckin’ listen. I tell it as it is. Steve Rogers is a fucking pansy ass, little shit.”

Sam’s face gets even harder than it has been. His eyes narrow and he growls, “Man, shut the hell up.”

Rumlow scoffs and rolls his eyes. He even outright laughs like they’re both making a joke or something. A fucking joke.

“Blow me,” he grunts. “Cocksucker.”

Sam immediately lets the weights drop back down and shoots off the bench. Before Bucky even realizes what’s happening, Sam is right up in Rumlow’s face.

“Dunno how well that’s gonna go with my fuckin’ _foot_ up your ass.”

The second Sam moved, so did Batroc. Which, in turn, had Clint moving as well. As a wrestler, Batroc could easily pull Clint into a position he might not be able to get out of. Knowing that, Clint makes the first move and quickly shoves him back. With Sam face to face with Rumlow like that, and Clint and Batroc already coming to physical hits, Bucky darts between them as Batroc moves back for Clint. He has no doubt that Sam can hold his own against Rumlow and he knows that Clint will put quite the hurting on Batroc as long as he can keep him from getting pinned down. Bucky also knows that they if things don’t go their way his friends can easily get their asses kicked. 

Between Clint and Batroc, Bucky is actually trying to hold Clint back while Sam and Rumlow are still coming close to actual blows. Not that Bucky would mind if Clint wiped the floor with this asshole. He just knows the way this might go down if the wrong teacher finds out. If they all get caught, they all may face penalties. Or, if these assholes manage to sweet talk their way out of it, only Bucky and _his_ friends will.

“You really wanna go, Wilson?” Rumlow asks. “You wanna piece of this?” 

“Been waitin’ a long time to wipe that smug grin off your ugly mug.”

To be honest, so has Bucky. What he wouldn’t give to be able to knock Rumlow on his ass right now. For all the bullshit in the locker room he’s been saying. For the crap he’s able to get away with. For being a piece of shit in general. Things Bucky once attempted to complain about to the one person meant to hear complaints such as that who only made the situation worse. 

“That’s enough!” The yell has Rumlow backing off immediately. Batroc follows in suit. Bucky knows why. Luck, today, is on their side. He and his friends look to see Ms. Danvers coming into the weight room. She looks pissed. “What is going on here?”

“Ms. Danvers, these guys over here just started in with us,” Rumlow lies.

“Out of nowhere?” she questions. “Some of my best students just got in your faces just for the sheer joy of it? Somehow I doubt that, Brock. Whatever’s happening stops now. Separate. You two” -- she points to Rumlow and Batroc -- “go find somewhere else to be.”

If there’s one teacher Bucky can always count on to be pretty fair it’s Ms. Danvers. Not all teachers play favorites, but lots of them have been dazzled by Rumlow’s easy-going attitude and almost charming manners. Not Ms. Danvers. Bucky wonders if she knows exactly what he is. A bully. Someone she dealt with in high school that she will do her best to keep in line when she can. 

“Thanks, Ms. Danvers,” Clint says once the other two walk away. 

“Yeah,” she replies. “I can’t have you guys fighting though. No matter what happened to start it, it’s school policy that _all_ of you get suspended.” Her eyes don’t quite roll, but they don’t _not_ roll either. “Out of curiosity though. What did happen?”

“Nothin’,” Sam mumbles. “Just two assholes being assholes.”

“Well, next time, tell a teacher. Don’t let it escalate,” she says. “Or, y’know, kick their asses off school grounds. Either works fine for me.”

Bucky chokes back a laugh while Clint gives her a fistbump. He makes no secret of Ms. Danvers being his favorite teacher. Anyone who doesn’t stand for bullies, teachers included, are good by him. They all agree, but Bucky knows the inevitable outcome of the first half-hearted part of her request. The part she just needs to say. Telling a teacher. Nothing. Absolutely nothing is ever solved by telling a teacher. He knows. Firsthand.

“I really hate that pig,” Sam mutters as they go back to working out again. He’s moving harder now. Working frustrations out. He really wanted to hit Rumlow just then. Maybe even more than Bucky did. “Can you believe him? _What shit_ , he says. Fuckin’ asshole.”

“Douchebaggery,” Clint comments. “Seriously, dude, it’s fucking 2019 and he thinks it’s okay to talk like that. You okay?”

It takes Bucky a second to realize Clint is speaking to him. He hasn’t said much of anything since Rumlow came over. 

“Yeah. I’m fine. I just wish there was something we could _do_ to shut those assholes up.”

Things had been so much simpler when they were younger. When getting them to shut up was as easy as beating them at a game of capture the flag or picking someone to play who they didn’t want to play with. The games have changed over the years. They’ve become harder and more complicated. The rules are subject to change and the teams aren’t fair. 

They’re coming to a close now. The games. As complicated as they’ve gotten, they’ve been enjoyable for the most part even if they’ve been a pain in the ass, but they’re almost done. Just a few more months. Though now it feels like Bucky’s unlocked some secret bonus level. One he had no idea existed. One that has him reuniting with Steve Rogers after almost seven years. Four years of not knowing where he was at all and almost three years of being ignored by him. And Bucky’s not really sure how to go about playing this round. 

***

Bucky gets to the library where he’s supposed to meet Steve just a few minutes after he gets out of gym. It took some dodging and misdirection, but he got Clint to accept that he was going to be late to practice without getting a bunch of questions launched at him. The library’s a good place to have to do research. And since his English paper’s due date is rapidly approaching, Bucky simply planted the idea that he was headed there for that without coming out and saying it. _Technically_ , he hasn’t even lied. 

It’s not that he doesn’t trust Clint. But it’s still not up to Bucky to spill Steve’s business about this whole peer mediation thing. From what he got from listening to Mr. Coulson, Bucky’s pretty sure this is a last resort. Sounds like Mr. Pierce is making it his personal mission to have him expelled and, even though Steve hasn’t exactly been a model student these past few years, Mr. Coulson is obviously in Steve’s corner. That’s gotta mean something. 

There are plenty of people in the library when he gets there. Most of them are up and about. Lingering in the bookshelves or at the computers. A few at the tables already doing homework or study sessions. There’s even some tutoring going on. Once Bucky signs in at the front desk -- Steve’s name is already on the sign-in sheet -- he takes a glance around and spots Steve at a table in the back corner. Just like earlier in the main office, he’s got his head down and hood up. Sucking in a deep breath, Bucky fixes the strap of his backpack and heads on over there. 

Since he’s not fully confident in how to get the ball rolling with this -- it was so much easier with Peter Parker -- Bucky just drops his notebook down on the table. It startles Steve enough that he jumps a bit as he sits up. He might actually have been sleeping this time. His eyes blink a bit as they try to refocus and he smacks his lips together. Steve’s face is cleaned up now, but his eye is swollen and that bruise on his cheek is darker. There’s a band aid over his nose which actually looks kinda cute -- a thought Bucky gobbles back down because no way can he start thinking of Steve Rogers as cute. His lip is also cut and so is the spot by the piercing in his eyebrow. Which Steve must aggravate when he rubs his eyes since he winces. 

“Ow,” he whispers. Still not fully awake. At least, not enough to notice Bucky. Not until he looks around and then spots him standing there. When he does, Steve’s entire expression darkens. He crosses his arms and glowers at him. “What do you want, Barnes?”

What does he want? Bucky wants to go to practice. He wants to be with his friends instead of here with someone who showed up after vanishing for four years with some mysterious and intense dislike of him. Especially when Bucky had been so excited to see him again. Steve, however, must’ve not felt the same way. Bucky has no idea what he’s done to make Steve look at him like that. 

“Mr. Coulson sent me here,” he tells him. 

Steve’s eyes dart around the room as though he expects Mr. Coulson to show up or something. When that doesn’t happen, he looks back at Bucky. His angry expression slowly clears as he lowers his arms. He’s not happy. Just accepting. Kinda what Bucky expected. Or hoped for. 

“Oh.” He pushes his hood off. “Okay.”

Pulling the chair out, Bucky sits across from Steve and opens to a blank page in his notebook. Technically, he’s supposed to start. Only he doesn’t. He just stares at Steve. The person who conversations used to flow so naturally and yet every word that comes to mind just gets stuck in his throat. After a few minutes, Steve’s eyebrows shoot up.

“ _Wow_ , this is _super_ riveting,” he deadpans. “I can feel the healing.”

Bucky sighs and rubs his brow. This is so ridiculous. Whatever’s happened between them, even though, seriously _nothing_ fucking happened between them -- not that Bucky can remember, and if it did, he really wishes Steve would just fucking _tell_ him -- it’s in the past. 

“So, I hear if you get into another fight you’re gonna get expelled.”

“That’s what they tell me,” he says like it’s nothing. Or a joke. 

“Steve, you know it’s kinda a big deal if Mr. Pierce has you expelled.”

“Pierce is an ass.”

Bucky has to hold in a laugh. Cause Steve hits the nail on the head with that one. But this is still a serious matter.

“That’s beside the point.”

“But you agree.”

“What?”

“That Pierce is an ass.”

Bucky blinks and rattles his head. “We’re getting off topic.”

“What is the topic?”

“You.”

“Ah.” Steve leans his chair back. “Okay then. I’m glad you cleared that up. Where would I be without you?”

Holding in a sigh, Bucky writes Steve’s name at the top of the page in his notebook. Just for something to do. It’s what he’s supposed to be doing anyway. They’re supposed to write down the solutions they come up with together.

“All right, let’s start over,” Bucky suggests as he starts to draw lines across the paper so he can make a list of pros and cons with Steve.

“Seems to me we haven’t started at all.”

Glaring at him through his eyelashes, Bucky’s hand gets tight around his pen. He’s _really_ holding back not flipping Steve off right now. Or just storming off and saying fuck it, he’s on his own. But Steve isn’t paying attention to what Bucky’s doing. While keeping his chair leaned back like that, Steve’s now sucking on the cut on his lip and fussing with his eyebrow piercing. Bucky lifts his head more. Steve is still not paying him any mind so Bucky can see when his face twists a bit. He’s in pain.

Bucky hesitates before saying, “Um, so.” Steve looks at him now. “The point of peer mediation is so that we can solve student problems together. One on one. As peers.” Steve gives him an unimpressed look. “So, what we should do, uh, is maybe make a list of things that bother you and then a list of ways you can handle them in a constructive way.”

Steve’s gone back to not paying attention. He’s actually digging at something under his nails, but when Bucky says that, he sorta rolls his eyes.

“A constructive way?”

“As opposed to fighting.”

Touching at his piercing again, Steve seems to try to hold back the grimace this time. 

“Shouldn’t the other half of the fight be here then?” he mumbles.

“The library isn’t big enough for all of them.”

Eyes wide, Bucky snaps his mouth shut. He did _not_ mean to say that out loud. Not only is it rude, but it’s also completely countering what he’s meant to do here. True, Steve hasn’t exactly been polite to him either, but _Bucky’s_ the one who’s meant to be the peer mediator. 

Still, that grabs Steve’s attention again. He flicks his gaze back to Bucky, but Bucky can’t tell if he’s annoyed or amused. 

“So, Barnes, you think I should find more constructive ways to deal with the assholes around here?”

“Well, you keep starting fights,” Bucky says. “Don’t you think there’s a better way--”

Before Bucky can complete that statement, Steve lets the chair drop forward again. He barks an amazed and humorless laugh. 

“Right,” he grunts. Voice dripping with sarcasm. “Starting. I keep _starting_ fights. Is that what they told you?”

Actually, they didn’t really tell him much of anything. Bucky just knows that he was in another fight. This time in Mr. Phillip’s American History class. But he’s been paying attention over the past few years. Bucky knows how Steve operates now. Someone probably did or said something that pissed him off. Steve let his temper get the best of him. And now they’re here.

“No one had to tell me anything,” Bucky sighs. “I know you.”

“Oh, you _know_ me?” Steve scoffs. “Is that right, Barnes? Go ‘head then. _Enlighten_ me. Explain to me exactly how me telling Gilmore Hodge to shut the hell up for making fun of Billy Kaplan for tearing up while watching _Schindler’s_ _List_ and your pal slugging me in the face for doing so is _me_ starting a fight?”

Bucky’s first thought is to refute the idea that he and Hodge are friends. Then the rest of Steve’s statement starts to sink in.

“Wait…”

“And in case you didn’t know, Billy Kaplan is Jewish _and_ his grandparents were Holocaust survivors. And even if that _wasn’t_ the case, making fun of _anyone_ for _crying_ is fucked up. _And_ last time I checked, hitting someone for telling them to shut up isn’t exactly a _balanced_ reaction. So forgive me if fighting _back_ is above your moral high ground. My apologies for the few shots I got in on your _friend_.”

“He’s _not_ my friend,” Bucky replies. At first, Bucky doesn’t know what else to say. If all of that is true, then Steve is seriously just another victim of the bullshit way they enforce the zero tolerance for fighting rules. Hodge probably got detention or something because he was involved, but that’s basically a slap on the wrist while Steve is sitting here on the threshold of being expelled. Unless… “Where was Mr. Phillips when all of this was happening?”

“Out in the hall with Ms. Walters.”

“That’s convenient.”

“Fuck you, Barnes,” Steve snaps. “I don’t care if you don’t believe me.”

“If it’s true, then why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“Because no one asked what happened,” Steve says as he touches at his piercing again. “No one ever asks.”

A hard lump forms in Bucky’s throat. That wasn’t fair of him. Not to mention the complete opposite of what he’s meant to do here. 

“So, then what _did_ happen?”

Steve’s eyes find him again. 

“I just told you.”

“No, but.” Bucky twists his lips. “Like, what _happened_.”

Yeah, Steve may have just given him a pretty sarcastic rundown, but maybe there’s more to it than that. Maybe there’s still some way for Bucky to help. 

“Like I said,” Steve starts. “We were watching _Schindler’s List_. Mr. Phillips stepped out in the hall with Ms. Walters. Your friend--”

“He’s _not_ my friend, Steve.”

Steve concedes to that with a nod. 

“Hodge saw that Billy was starting to cry. He called him a…” Steve trails off. His face is getting red just thinking about it. “Well, it was a pretty colorful word for a gay guy.” 

“Yeah, that sounds like him.”

Plus, Billy Kaplan is actually gay. Probably just fueled Hodge on even more. There’s a brief pause before Steve goes on.

“I dunno if anyone else heard. Hodge sits behind Billy. I sit behind Hodge. Told ‘im to shut the hell up. _That_ everyone heard.” Of course, they did. Steve isn’t exactly quiet. “Hodge stood up. I braced myself. Next thing I know, we’re fighting. I don’t just _start_ fights, Barnes.”

Bucky still has the end of his pen pressed down on the page like he’s going to write something. There’s nothing to write though. Everything Steve’s just said is just so… _Steve_. That’s the Steve he knew when they were little. Not the one from the cafeteria this afternoon just screaming at someone for no reason. 

“Are we done here?” Steve asks.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, Bucky shakes his head. It’s only been fifteen minutes. There’s still another fifteen left to their session.

“No. What happened at lunch?”

That must have caught Steve off guard. He rattles his head like he’s trying to gather the thoughts that Bucky’s looking for.

“What?”

“You were yelling at someone at lunch.”

“Oh.” He nods as if suddenly remembering that. “Yeah. What of it?”

“Is there something you could have done differently then?”

“Differently?”

“Instead of yelling?”

They have to accomplish something here today. Something that’s going to satisfy Mr. Pierce. Peer mediation isn’t like seeing the school therapist where everything is kept strictly confidential. Bucky needs to give something back to Mr. Coulson. A plan of action that he and Steve have come up with of some sorts. Something like a list of things that bother Steve and how he can avoid them. Or his knee jerk reactions versus more rational reactions. 

“I was yelling at Dottie Underwood for calling Wade Wilson a freak. After he kept telling her to shut up. And then she proceeded to call him a waste of space.”

Which gives Steve a very reasonable explanation to have been yelling. While Wade Wilson has his very own, unique personality, he was born with a birthmark covering seventy percent of his body. Most days Wade can handle himself and the stares he receives he just stares right back. But it’s still high school. Some days still gotta hurt. Steve wasn’t just yelling because something pissed him off. He was yelling because someone hurt someone else. 

“Okay, so maybe…” Bucky racks his brain. Coming up with half-hearted and probably useless suggestions to give to Steve. “Maybe next time you can open a line of dialogue?”

“Open… a line… of… _dialogue_?” Steve repeats. 

Bucky sighs and drops his head in his hands. This is getting quite frustrating. He knows it’s a ridiculous suggestion, but he also knows this whole peer mediation thing is probably just _as_ ridiculous. Especially with Steve Rogers. He’s not gonna listen to a _word_ Bucky has to say. 

“Right, so we can put down here that you don’t like to see others being pushed around.” Bucky picks his pen back up to jot that down. Ready to make another ridiculous suggestion. 

“Gee whiz, Barnes,” Steve mocks. Once again fussing with that fucking piercing. _Still_ wincing with each touch of it. “Imagine that. I don’t like bullies.”

“ _Look_ , I’m _here_ missing _my_ practice for _you_ , Steve. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t bust my ass the _whole_ time. And stop picking at the fuckin’ thing. You’re just gonna make it worse.”

Dropping his hand back down on the desk, Steve dips his head back and stares at the ceiling. He lets out a disgruntled huff and then rubs his fingers over his chin. 

“Yeah, Barnes. You can put down that I don’t like to see people being pushed around.”

Bucky watches him for a second. Steve just… listened to him. It wasn’t a big deal. Just about not picking at his piercing, but he did. He’s not really sure what the hell is happening. Everything he thought had changed about Steve is trying to creep back in. Which is bullshit. It has to be. The past three years haven’t just been a lie. 

“Uh, so…” Bucky clears his throat. “How about… telling a teacher when you see that happening?”

Head still back, Steve fakes a laugh.

“You know that never works.”

“I know,” Bucky sighs. “Just agree to it, Steve.”

Steve brings his hand up to his forehead to salute. 

“Whatever you say, Sarge.”

Bucky’s stomach flips. No one’s called him that since they were kids. Not since their days of war on the playground. And that was mostly their little group his nanny used to call the Howling Commandos. They’ve all since gone their separate ways. Dum-Dum moved to Long Island just before high school and Jim moved to Fresno just after that. Monty is still in the neighborhood, but he’s in a private school. Gabe doubled up on classes last year and graduated a year early. That leaves Bucky and Steve. Sarge and Captain. Only not anymore. 

“And, um, okay how about when you see someone you don’t like, maybe you can avoid punching them?”

Still looking up at the ceiling, Steve barks a laugh. A real laugh, Bucky thinks. 

“I’ve never done that.”

“Oh really? What about Johnny Storm?”

Now Steve lowers his head back down to look at him. There’s something of a smirk quirked up on his lips and he tilts his head a little to the side like he might actually find Bucky’s presence acceptable for a change.

“You know about that?”

“Yeah. Or, well.” Steve’s called him on making assumptions once already today. He doesn’t need it again. “A second-hand version of it.”

“Who told you?”

Uh-ah. Bucky’s not giving his friends up. He just looks at Steve with that same smirk on his mouth and shakes his head. Steve grins a bit more and nods, accepting Bucky’s decision not to share that. He almost goes to touch his piercing again but thinks better of it this time -- even peeking at Bucky right before his fingers would touch -- and lowering his hand.

“That was different,” Steve says. 

“Oh yeah?” Bucky runs his fingers through the hair on the back of his head. “And why is that?”

“Extenuating circumstances?” he offers. And then adds a light chuckle and a shrug. “Besides, Johnny and me worked it out. We’re good.”

Bucky snickers and sort of groans through it, finding it almost a little easier to talk to Steve now than it had been before. 

“You still got into a fight. Mr. Pierce’ll use anything he can to have you expelled. So let’s try to avoid punching people, shall we?”

“Will do.”

“So, that’s what I’m gonna put down for now so I can hand it in to Mr. Coulson.” Bucky already starts doing that. “That you’re gonna try to _talk_ to people instead of yelling at them and tell a teacher when you see something happening and not hit anyone.”

“And then what?”

“In the meantime, don’t get into any fights and then I’ll see you either later in the week or next week again so we can talk about how you’ve done.”

For a moment Steve just looks at him. His eyes drop to the paper that Bucky’s been writing on. He looks a bit irritated again. Like Bucky’s just given him bad news or something.

“We have to do this again? Me and you?”

Oh. Well shit. Bucky knew this was going to be a struggle, but he didn’t think it was so bad. Not by the end anyway. They smiled. Even laughed. Now it sounds like having to do it all over again completely killed Steve’s mood.

“Yeah. That’s how this works. We’ll meet up after school once or twice a week to talk about… y’know, this sorta stuff. For the next few weeks anyway. Until Mr. Pierce lets you off the hook.”

Rolling his head back with an exaggerated groan, Steve ends up with his head down on the table again. He mumbles something into his arms that Bucky doesn’t quite catch. 

“What was that?”

Steve turns his head enough so that his mouth is visible so that Bucky can understand him when he says, “So you’re, like, my probation officer?”

That’s one way to look at it. Bucky wonders if maybe he should suggest to Steve if it might be better to meet with someone else. After all, he doesn’t sound too thrilled about having to meet with Bucky again. Well, he doesn’t want to meet with anyone at all, but it sounds like Bucky is on top of the list of no-nos. 

“Uh, I guess so. Look, I can talk to Mr. Coulson. Ask him to find someone else.”

“Someone else for what?” Steve asks. Pulling his arms closer together like he’s trying to get his head more comfortable on them. 

“To…” Is he serious? “To be your peer mediator.”

“You mean probation officer,” Steve corrects. He scratches at his nose and tucks his arm right back under his head and before Bucky can say anything to that he says, “I don’t want anyone else. You’ll do.”

“Oh, thanks so much.” Bucky doesn’t know if he should chuckle or scoff since he’s not sure if Steve’s joking with him or not, but he does think that Steve might smirk. “So, no more fights this week, right? Otherwise, you’ll, uh, you’ll make me look bad.” Steve chuckles into his arms and puts one of his thumbs up. Bucky snickers as he finishes up the list he started. “You gotta admit, you _do_ get into a lot of fights though. I mean, what does your mom say about all this?”

It’s a simple question. One Bucky doesn’t think much of. He can remember the first time he ever saw Sarah Rogers. Actually, he heard her first. While he sat outside of the principal’s office waiting for his own parents. Bucky had never heard an Irish accent before, but he heard Sarah’s thick and heavy accent that day and finally understood what Steve meant when he always said _Mama’s off the boat_.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Sarah shouted from inside the office. “Steven, look at yer face!”

That afternoon at recess, Victor had tripped Steve as they were all playing tag. Steve got up and went back at him. Bucky -- who was always either a step behind or in front of Steve -- join in a second later. Of course, Victor claimed it was an attack two against one. Which is what the principal told Sarah. And when Steve gave his side of the story to Sarah, she asked the principal why he didn’t already know that.

“Well did ya ask me boy what happened?”

Bucky’s first glimpse of her was when she led Steve out of the office just a minute after she chewed the principal out for not at least asking Steve his side of the story. 

“I don’t want ya gettin’ into no more fights, Steven,” she said. One hand holding Steve’s and the other one wiping the dirt away from Steve’s face with a tissue. “But… I’m proud’a ya, son. Whenever anyone knocks ya down, ya _always_ get back up.”

Bucky always thought Sarah was the coolest mom. So he doesn’t think much about asking Steve what she thinks about all the fights he gets into around here. But it must be the _way_ wrong question to ask since Steve’s head snaps back up and Bucky’s been on the receiving end up an if-looks-could-kill look before, but if looks could kill Bucky would be six, no, _twelve_ feet under right now with a knife buried deep in his heart. Steve glares at him like he hates him more than anyone in the world.

“Don’t you _fucking_ talk about my mom,” Steve growls through his teeth.

“O-okay?” Bucky rattles his head. “I wasn’t though. Steve, I…”

“We’re done now,” he hisses. Shoots out of the chair so abruptly he knocks it over. Steve ignores it as he snatches his backpack from under the table. “By the way,” he mutters as he leaves. “You owe me a million dollars.”

Dumbfounded and flabbergasted, Bucky just stares after him as Steve storms out of the library. He has _no_ fucking clue what just happened. How such a simple question could tip the scales so much against him. And then the last thing Steve said to him hits him like a ton of bricks. Seven years ago, Bucky had bet Steve a million dollars that they’d always be friends. 

Anger rolls over Bucky like a sudden thunderstorm. Heavy and intense. There’s no way in hell that Bucky’s going to let Steve put the blame for them not being friends on him.

No fucking way. 


	5. There's No Party Like a Tony Stark Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky goes to a party with his friends and has feelings when unexpectedly running into a certain someone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Minor trigger warning for underage drinking and a brief scene of marijuana use**

There are all different types of parties. There’re classy parties and dress-up-to-have-your-cheeks-pinched-by-relatives-you-haven’t-seen-in-years parties. There’re wild parties and there’re epic parties. And then there are Tony Stark’s parties. No words in any human language can ever quite capture a way to describe exactly what it’s like to be at a party at Tony’s place. Because no two parties are ever the same. 

Sure there’s always music and the place is always packed with people. The food is always delicious if sometimes a little out there. Like the one time Tony had a chocolate fountain. But not a normal chocolate fountain, a chocolate fountain that one could easily fit a small child in. Tony’s had theme parties that have ranged from decades to toga to superhero and if someone couldn’t come dressed in costume, he provided one for them. 

This time around, Tony sent out a mass text requesting everyone bring an extra change of clothes with them. The reason remained unclear throughout the first few hours of being there. Bucky arrived with Natasha and Clint around eight and they all met up with Sam and Thor and Jane. Bruce and Betty have made an appearance as have Peggy and Angie. Bucky spent some time with Wanda and Maria before finding Pietro and Rhodey. They all got food together -- multicultural food all served on sticks and none of which Bucky could pronounce the names of -- and ended up in the room with the DJ dancing their asses off. 

While Bucky danced with anyone who happened to wander near him -- he spun Angie and dipped Peggy and grinded with Wanda -- his favorite dance partner has always and will always be Natasha. They took lessons together when they were younger and though Tasha’s continued on with it -- and plans to pursue it in college -- Bucky knows how to stay in beat and cut a rug like it’s nobody’s business. Bucky has to peel his eyes away when he catches a glimpse of Sam dancing up against Kamala and also remind himself that the crush he had on Clint two years ago was nothing more than that when Clint peels his shirt off. 

It’s while they were all dancing that Tony and Pepper showed up to join them. And the reason they were asked to bring an extra pair of clothes became obvious. When the _foam_ started raining down on them. 

“What the _hell_ , Tony!” Pepper exclaimed. “What is this?”

“Foam!” Tony answered excitedly. “I’ve always wanted a foam party! Always!”

Frankly, Bucky couldn’t remember one time Tony ever mentioning even the mere _idea_ of having a foam party, but it rained down from his ceiling for a good fifteen minutes and people screamed and laughed. It ended up absolutely _everywhere_. Bucky and Clint attempted a sort of foam-snowball fight with Sam and Rhodey and when Clint tried to dump a whole bunch of suds over Natasha’s head he ended up on the floor with the pile on _his_ head instead. 

The music went right on playing and lights flashed through the entire room making the foam all different colors. People chased each other around. Some slipping all over the place -- no one ended up getting hurt, which was probably some sort of miracle -- and others put the stuff all over their faces like beards and hats and wigs. Angie used what she could of the stuff to design a gown for Peggy and then Thor officiated a ceremony for them. 

Once the foam ran out, Tony cleared the room and had a cleaning crew come in and had the DJ set up in another room so the party could go on.

Now, Bucky’s hair is still damp and he can still hear fizzing from some leftover suds, but unlike Clint he listened to Tony and brought an extra pair of clothes. So Bucky is wearing a pair of sweats and a comfy t-shirt and Clint is borrowing a cotton robe while his clothes are being dried. Natasha is also in a pair of sweats and a tee, but the shirt belongs to Bucky. Or, at least, it did. Once. It probably hasn’t for two years since Natasha staked a claim on it when she slept over after they went to a Fall Out Boy concert. 

The three of them are sitting in Tony’s room with a few of their other friends. Tony’s place is still packed with people -- and probably will be the whole weekend -- but they’ve all retreated for bit of privacy among themselves. Despite the ego and all the showing off, Tony’s actually a pretty sentimental guy. So while most of the senior and junior classes and probably even some sophomores dance and dine and party in the Starks’s penthouse, Tony has sent his closest friends into his room with bowls of popcorn and bags of chips and bars of candy -- gourmet candy. They’ve got cans of sodas and bottles of water, and Bucky laughs and a jokes around taking selfies while they wait for Tony to return with some big surprise. According to Tony, it’s something to officially celebrate Bucky’s big success. 

Tony’s room is huge. Bigger than Bucky’s living room even. There’re two long desks pushed up along two walls. One of them has a whole bunch of computers. The other has a bunch of experiments on it that might give Victor Frankenstein a run for his money. Or, well, without the whole immoral bringing people back from the dead thing. But there _are_ half built computers and a robot that Tony calls Dumi cause he can’t get it to work quite right and a metal arm that Tony gets real serious talking about. Bucky thinks Tony’s hoping to revolutionize prosthetic limbs with it. 

Then there are more typical bedroom stuff. A bed, for starters, which is where Clint has tossed himself. A huge television on the wall and gaming systems -- all of which Tony has taken apart and rebuilt to his own specifications. There’s actually a really kick ass surround sound system that blows Bucky’s mind away anytime Tony tosses music on. But since they can actually still hear the DJ from there, there’s no point. Oh, and there’re Bean Bag chairs and they’re amazingly comfortable. So, of course, Bucky quickly plopped down on one of those. 

“Any idea what he’s got up his sleeve?” Bucky asks.

“If I did,” Pepper says, “I’d’ve put a stop to it already.”

That gets a laugh since she’s most likely right. Whatever Tony’s planning is probably over the top and out of this world. 

“I take it you were unaware of the raining foam?” Thor questions. 

Pepper scoffs. 

“Had no idea. Can you believe him?”

“Are you surprised?” Betty says. “Actually, he’s been fussing with the properties of soap lately in the lab after school.”

Bruce suddenly snaps his fingers like he’s just realized something. 

“Oh! _That’s_ where all the sodium hydroxide disappeared to!” he exclaims. “Tony must’ve gotten to it!”

Only Jane and Betty seem to get where he’s going with that. The two of them light up like everything now makes perfect sense. When the name of the chemical clicks to Bucky, he understands. 

“Ha!” he barks a laugh. “Did he really take that?”

“Well, it’s all gone,” Betty tells him. “And Tony is the kinda guy who would make his own.”

“I don’t get it,” Clint admits. “What the hell are you guys talking about?”

Bucky chuckles and explains. “Sodium hydroxide is the base ingredient for soap.”

The Science Crew is all smiles as everyone else begins to catch up. One by one their faces start to brighten as it sinks in and soft snickers begin to fill the room. 

“You don’t think…?” Sam wonders. 

“That he made all that foam himself?” Pepper finishes for him. “Why am I not surprised?”

“I dunno, why are you surprised?!” Tony comes strolling back into the room with his arms behind his back. Big, mischievous grin on his face. “What’d I miss? You guys destroy my room? Did ya, did ya?”

No one gets a chance to answer that, not that anyone would dare _touch_ a thing in Tony’s room lest they find themselves deaged or shrunk down to half the size or something. But Pepper shoots out of the recliner she’s been sitting in and marches straight over to Tony. Who backpedals a few steps but doesn’t get very far. 

“What, what?” he questions. “What’d I do?”

“More like what do you think you’re doing?” Pepper corrects. “What’s behind your back?”

Tony gives her his patent devilish smile and pulls his right arm out from behind his back. Shows Pepper his empty hand. She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms. Taps her toes while she waits. Tony smirks and finally shows her the bottle of Scotch he’s got back there. 

“Dad’s best!” he announces. “Just in time to celebrate for Bucky!” Tony turns that smirk on him. “Good thing I decided not to double up on classes, right, Barnes?”

Bucky blows a raspberry at him. “And why is that?”

“Oh, please,” Tony comments. “You _know_ that I’d be the one to be celebrating right now and _you’d_ be my second-in-command. But!” He shrugs. “I’ll just have to wait till next year for my turn.”

There’s a collective gasp among the other juniors there, particularly the rest of the Science Crew -- all of which definitely have a shot of being next year’s valedictorian. Jane grabs a handful of popcorn and tosses it at him while Betty throws balled up napkins. Someone throws a pillow at him. Hits him right in the head. It was Clint, Bucky assumes, since it came from the bed, but Clint just lays there with his arms behind his head like he’s not even paying attention. 

“All right, all right!” Tony exclaims to get the cavalry to stop firing. “ _Maybe_ I’ll have some competition next year!”

“Are you still suggesting that Bucky _wouldn’t_ have been competition?” Natasha asks. Bucky presses his smile behind her shoulder. Honored with her quick defense of his accomplishment. “What about Bruce?” Bruce pops a piece of chocolate into his mouth and grins as he chews. “Or Helen Cho?” Who’s already been accepted by early admissions to Yale University's Medical Program. “Or _Jane_?”

“Yeah!” Rhodey agrees. “You _do_ realize that it’s not _all_ based on your GPA, right?”

“Exactly,” Betty adds. “You _might_ have a higher average, but _we_ ” -- she gestures between her, Jane, and Bruce -- “have been organizing and setting up the science fairs for the past _two_ years.”

“And _I_ ’ _ve_ set up the _entire_ astronomy club!” Jane announces. 

Thor, sitting on the floor in front of her, grins proudly. He’s been in the astronomy club with her since she started it. Studying stars and planets, and claiming that the more he learns about it, the more he believes magic and science are one in the same. Jane always laughs. Which is funny given how much she and Darcy will pour over books and papers on astrology. 

“Don’t forget,” Bruce comments. Soft spoken as always. “Betty and I volunteer at the hospital every weekend.” 

In the radiology department, usually with children. They never complain about it either, though Bucky knows they’ve worked with children who haven’t made it. That can’t be easy, and Bucky gives them all the credit in the world for being able to compartmentalize the way they do. 

“Hey, come on, guys,” Bucky says, eyes playfully narrowed at Tony as he stands there completely outnumbered and outgunned. “I’m sure if Tony--”

“Why is this about me?!” Tony suddenly exclaims. Arms tossed out to the side and innocent expression pulled up on his face. 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky chuckles. “Isn’t it always--”

“Okay, okay!” He scoffs. “So _maybe_ I’d’ve had some competition this year.” Tony glances around at all the daring expressions he receiving. “ _And_ next year!” He sighs with a smile and holds up the bottle of Scotch. “But that doesn’t matter!” Tony goes over to the desk with all the computers on it. “We’re here to celebrate Buck’s big feat anyway!”

Over at the desk, Tony puts the bottle down and starts rummaging through stuff. Though it’s clear _he_ knows where everything is over there, it looks like he’s just shoveling through a big pile of junk. But he ends up with a whole bunch of glass tumblers and even an ice bucket -- which he probably stashed there not that long ago since everything’s still frozen -- with every intention of serving the Scotch in some classy manner.

Bucky’s never actually _had_ Scotch. In fact, he’s pretty sure that none of them have. Well, maybe Tony, but the rest of them just look on and watch and pretend _not_ to be interested as Tony starts dropping a few pieces of ice in each of the glasses. Just before he would start to pour, Pepper stops him. 

“ _Wait_ a second, Tony,” she sighs. “We’re not going to be drinking that straight.”

“We’re not!” he says. “This is on the _rocks_ , Pepper!” 

Tony acts like he’s going to put up an argument. Jerks his knee and makes a face, but he otherwise puts up no resistance as she takes the bottle from him and puts it back down on the desk. Pepper swipes up some of the cans of seltzer sitting in the middle of the room and brings them back over to the desk with her where she immediately begins to fill the glasses with more soda than anything else. Which Bucky is grateful for. 

He’d never say anything, it’s not like he’d want to be a killjoy or anything, but he’s not so sure how good of an idea it’d be to start downing Mr. Stark’s -- probably several hundred dollar -- bottle of Scotch. Sure, they’ll all act like hotshots. Pretend to be sophisticated and snazzy, but really the _only_ one that could come _close_ to being able to drink more than one glass of that stuff is Thor. Funnily enough, even though she’s actually kinda small, Natasha comes next. After that, Bucky’s not even sure _who_ could handle more than one glass of it. 

“Who’s spending the night?” Pepper asks as she starts to add a bit of the liquor to the glasses. “Everyone?”

“I am!” Clint announces. “Even got my spot picked out!”

“You’re not sleeping in my bed, Barton,” Tony grunts as he helps Pepper start handing out the filled glasses. 

Which is the opposite of what Tony should be saying to that because the very second he says it, Clint starts rubbing his ass across the mattress and smothering the back of his head into the pillows. 

“Oh, yeah?” Clint even pretends like he’s gonna pull open the robe he’s got on. “Cause I’m feelin’ mighty comfy right about now.”

Everyone in the room throws a hand in front of their eyes. Well, everyone but Natasha who just scoffs and stares like she’s daring him to do it. 

“Ugh! Come on!” Tony grunts. “Keep that thing away!”

“Works every time,” Clint mutters proudly to himself. “Like a charm.” 

“Okay,” Pepper chuckles. “Now that we got that out of the way.” She hands Bucky a glass. “Is everyone staying?”

It was absolute hell for Bucky to convince his parents to let him come out tonight. It was even _harder_ to convince them to let him stay the weekend. A family weekend is what it should be. That’s what they claimed. Even though they spent every evening together, including last night, which wouldn’t be all that unusual except that Bucky had a basketball game and normally goes out with the team for an hour or so after a win. They won last night, but Bucky was still dragged out to dinner. Again. 

This is the beginning of the end. At least, that’s what Mom keeps insisting. That this is when everything is going to start to change and that it’s the last time Bucky’s going to be their “little boy” which kinda creeps Bucky out even though he gets what they mean by it. Which is why every night this week they’ve insisted it be family time. 

They were so excited at the beginning of the week. When Bucky came home from practice that day, he hadn’t been in the greatest of moods. After that rotten end to the session with Steve, Bucky had found himself frustrated and irritated. _You owe me a million dollars_. Yeah, Bucky really felt like punching something after hearing that one. Steve really has some fucking nerve. Still, Bucky’d been able to work some frustration out during basketball practice and since his parents were already home by the time he got back, the excitement of letting them know he’d gotten valedictorian outweighed the frustration Steve caused. 

He tried to wait a bit before letting them know. Make the suspense last a little while the way Mr. Coulson had done to him. But he couldn’t. The second Bucky walked through the door he was practically bursting with the news. 

Mom had screeched and pulled Bucky into her arms. Almost giving him whiplash in the process. Maybe she did. Bucky _has_ been a little sore ever since. Dad gave him this huge bear hug and told him how happy he was. Told Bucky he knew he would make them proud. Bucky laughed and smiled, and that pride Mr. Coulson spoke of earlier in the afternoon most definitely made an appearance. The look on his parents’ faces alone was worth the extra bit of work he’s had to do to get him there. Mom’s teary eyes and look of joy and Dad’s beaming smile -- so worth the effort. Bucky couldn’t pry the grin off his face with a damn crowbrow. And it’s not like he hasn’t enjoyed some of the ride anyway. Sure, the extra _classes_ haven’t exactly been a joyride, but the teams and the clubs and the volunteer work? They’ve been _fun_. Hard work, yeah, but fun. Bucky’s met so many different people and now he has so many different friends, so, yeah, it’s been worth it. 

Since Mom’s scream of delight alerted Bucky’s sisters to his success, they had quickly scrambled about to set up their own surprises of congratulations. The twins had hung up this huge banner in the dining room that just says _Congratulations Bucky!_ but it’s handmade and trimmed with borders that they painted themselves -- it’s still hanging up there. They also blew up tons of balloons and had them scattered all over the dining room floor. Sophia made several paper cards, including one that spilled glitter all over the front of his pants when Bucky opened it. She claimed it was fairy dust and that it was going to help him make all his dreams come true. Bucky kept a pinch of it. Just in case. Becky shrugged and said _congrats, jerk_ and then acted like it was a normal night and everyone just happened to be fussing over Bucky for no big deal. But when he went to his room for bed, he found the photo collage made up of pictures of two them over the years she had hidden under his pillow. On the back of it Becky had written: _to the best big brother in the world. I hope all your dreams come true, especially the ones you never dared to dream. Learn to shine like the star you are, Bucky. Love you lots. - Becky._ The gesture made Bucky tear up and he pinned the collage up on the corkboard he kept on the wall. 

They went out to dinner that night, but since it was last minute, Mom declared that the real celebratory dinner wasn’t until the following night. Mom and Dad have both taken to calling him Mr. Valedictorian regularly and because Sophia is still in a bit of a parrot phase so has she only her attempt to mimic the nickname sounds more like Mr. Val-a-lick-orian. As appreciative as Bucky is for the banner that Nicole and Lauren made, they refuse to take it down since they’ve now dubbed it their masterpiece. 

So as nice as it’s been celebrating at home with his family, Bucky’s definitely glad he was able to convince his parents that he should be out with his friends, too. To be around people who say _way to go, dude!_ and then move on rather than making it the center of the world for the next few weeks. 

Which is why Bucky takes the glass filled with soda and mixed with Scotch that probably costs more than what his dad makes in a week and takes a big gulp of it. Ignores the burn in his throat that the soda is supposed to dilute and just grins at Pepper. 

“I am!” he announces and then starts coughing since that burn he was trying to ignore got a lot worse when he used his voice. 

“And that, ladies and gentlemen,” Tony laughs as he pats Bucky on the back. “Is why we’re supposed to _sip_.”

There really isn’t a need to leave Tony’s room after that. Sure, there’s a DJ and lots of people and some pretty nice food out in the other rooms, but pigging out on junk food and goofing off with his closest friends is, in Bucky’s opinion, way better than being out there. After that first round of poured drinks, Pepper makes Tony put the bottle away. He does -- with little complaint -- but comes back with a bucket of beer and wine coolers. None of them have much interest in getting drunk, that’s just not the way they like to do things, but some of them, Bucky included, will indulge a bit.

Tony’s room ends up becoming a bit of a disaster. There’re plastic cups all over the place -- once they stopped pretending to be suave and sophisticated they swapped the glassware out for the cheaper stuff -- and crumbs scattered all over the floor. Video games have been warred over so wireless controllers for various systems are haphazardly placed on a chair here or the corner of a desk there. Since the DJ’s music pumps throughout the entire place, certain songs have most them up and dancing -- and _all_ of them when Lady Gaga comes on. Bucky takes the opportunity to _really_ show off during that one, dancing between Natasha and Clint. 

Someone goes through Tony’s closet -- one of them that Tony deems available for scavenging -- and ends up finding a whole bunch of old board games, and not one of them care that they’re sixteen and seventeen -- Rhodey and Thor are even eighteen already -- they’re all down for breaking into them and playing. There’s some debate over even _attempting_ to try to play Monopoly, but since no one wants to see a civil war break out, they quickly nix that idea. Chutes and Ladders and Candyland are among the choices. They pick Candyland first and make up their own rules and regulations and wind up getting so loud and rowdy with laughter someone comes barging in. Brock Rumlow. And he looks pissed. Bucky can feel the tension coil around the air immediately. 

“Would you fuckers keep it _down_?” Rumlow growls. Behind him is Dottie Underwood -- his on-again, off-again girlfriend. The one Steve yelled at earlier in the week for shitting all over Wade Wilson. “My lady and I are trying to have a private fuckin’ moment.”

The two of them must be trying to fool around in the room next to Tony’s. Bucky -- and the rest of his friends, he’s sure -- just take a second to stare at Rumlow. Hair disheveled and lipstick stained at the side of his mouth, there’re red patches on both his cheeks. His shirt is opened and he almost falls into the room in his irritation. Looks like he might be pretty drunk. 

“Brock Rumlow!” Tony shouts with a smile on his face. “How about _you_ get the fuck _out_ and stop blaming _us_ for _your_ performance problems?”

Face turning bright red, Rumlow opens his mouth like he’s going to say something back -- something unclever and probably offensive knowing him -- and then snaps it closed again. Blinking at all of them for a second, Rumlow clearly had no idea Tony was in there and it must suddenly occur to him that he’s just come into his host’s room and insulted him and his friends. Instead of digging himself into a deeper hole -- seems he’s sober enough to know not to challenge Tony on this -- he spins on his heels to march away again. Only, in doing so, he ends up tripping over his feet and Dottie has to keep him from falling over. 

For some reason -- or maybe a whole _slew_ of reasons -- the sight of Rumlow falling over himself strikes Bucky as so funny he can’t help it. A laugh bursts from him so hard there’s no way to contain himself. Once he starts laughing, Clint and Sam join him. So maybe they don’t always get to make Rumlow eat his words or sock ‘im in the jaw like he deserves. At least they got to see that. Karma taking a bit of a swing at him. 

One by one, the rest of the room follows in suit. Though not nearly laughing as hard as Bucky, Clint, and Sam, they do all laugh, and Rumlow spins around and is so red Bucky’s sure the vein bulging in his forehead might burst. 

“Fuck you all!” he growls. “I’ll kick all your asses!”

Rumlow throws his fists up like he means to do just that, but he’s had enough to drink that it makes him stagger and fall back into the door. Of course, seeing him fall for a _second_ time doesn’t help with Bucky’s giggles and his sides are now beginning to hurt. 

“Come on, Brock,” Dottie says as she steers him out of the room. She throws a nasty glare back at them all when the laughter doesn’t stop. “They’re a bunch of _losers_ anyway.” 

Bucky’s not sure where it comes from. The words aren’t even in his head clearly when he starts singing, “He’s beauty! He’s grace!”

“He’ll fall flat on his face!” Clint finishes for him.

Whatever string of curses that follow from both Rumlow and Dottie are drowned out by the howling laughter the joke gets from the whole room. Especially from Bucky, Sam, and Clint. Clint even slides off the bed and tosses an arm around Bucky and they both end up rolling on the floor in stitches. As the others begin to calm down, Sam attempts to explain why it’s so funny to them since neither Bucky nor Clint can get a grip. They’re both laughing so hard on the floor together there are tears in their eyes. Which is how Bucky ends up hovered over Clint. One hand on his abs, the other pressed on the floor right next to his head.

Clint smiles up at him. He’s got one hand tucked behind his head and with the other, he brushes something out of Bucky’s hair. It’s not like the position is overly intimate or that they’ve never been in it before. Neither of them has done anything unusual, but Bucky is feeling strangely loose and happy and tingly inside and his muscles start to tighten in pleasant ways when he thinks about leaning in and kissing Clint. 

Bucky jerks away so quickly it must startle Clint a bit since his face falls and he sits up just a heartbeat after. 

“What’s wrong?” Clint asks. “You okay? Do I smell?”

He actually peels the front of the robe he’s still wearing -- even though his clothes have already been brought back up to him over an hour ago -- and gives himself a whiff. That, at least, makes Bucky chuckle. 

“No.” Bucky shakes his head and pushes himself up. “I think I just need some fresh air.” When Bucky stands, it must call the attention of the rest of his friends. Everyone stops what they’re doing or chatting about to look at him. “What?” He laughs.

“Where’re you off to?” Thor asks. “You aren’t leaving, are you?”

“Yeah!” Rhodey exclaims even in the middle of his Mario Kart race with Bruce, Sam, and Pepper. “You can’t leave!”

“I’m not, I’m not!” Bucky chuckles as he heads for the door. “I’m just gonna get some air. I’ll be right back.”

Natasha is suddenly at his side. The two of them at the door, of course, gets a remark from Tony about the two of them needing _alone time_. Of course, he raises his palms in surrender when Natasha throws a glare at him. 

“You want company?” she asks Bucky when they step out into the hall together. “Want me to come?”

“Nah,” Bucky assures her. “I’m fine.” He really is. Things just a got a little overwhelming for a second. Bucky just needs to clear his head a little and he’ll be fine. “Really, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

She twists her lips in a somewhat doubtful way, but otherwise makes no objections. She lets him know again that she’ll come with him if he wants and then she slips back into Tony’s room. Bucky waits just a second before leaving. Listens to all his friends laughing and talking and even shouting. Bucky smiles and walks away from the room. Just for a few minutes, that’s all he needs. Out on the rooftop terrace. There’s probably a bunch of people up there. Maybe smoking even though it’s cold out. But it’ll be a bit quieter up there and the cold air will help keep his mind clear again. 

There are people everywhere. Some Bucky knows from school -- a few that nod or smile or even high-five him as he goes by -- and others that he’s never seen before in his life. Probably people who don’t even know whose place they’re at. The DJ’s music still pumps loud through the whole place. There’s even flashing colored lights in the room he’s set up in now. The music, naturally, gets lower the further from the main room, so there are less and less people the farther Bucky gets from there. 

As he approaches the sliding glass doors, Bucky can smell the unmistakable scent of weed. He crinkles his nose. To each their own, but Bucky just never really cared for the stuff. Whoever’s smoking it has enough courtesy to at least do it out there instead of indoors where the smoke has no place to go. 

Like he suspected, there are plenty of people out of the roof. It isn’t any wonder. The view is spectacular. The twinkling lights of Manhattan off in the distance. A full view of Brooklyn all around them. Bucky once asked Tony why he wasn’t shacked up in some Manhattan penthouse and going to some exclusive boarding school or something. Given the fact that Mr. Stark is the CEO of his own empire, it seems to make more sense. But Tony shrugged and said that his mom and their butler, Mr. Jarvis -- who Tony just affectionately calls Jarvis -- thought it would be better for Tony if he had more a lowkey lifestyle. Bucky’s not sure what they’re definition of lowkey is since Tony does not seem to be living _anything_ lowkey, but he’s glad that they made the decision to live in Brooklyn instead. 

No one pays any attention to Bucky as he steps out with them. Everyone is too absorbed in their own conversations to notice him anyway. Bucky probably wouldn’t pay much attention to any of them either if he didn’t hear someone start belting out a song. Entirely off-key and out of tune. 

“ _I’m_ hooked on a feelin’! I’m _high_ on believing!”

“Dude, shut _up_!”

Bucky looks over to see Peter Quill’s face bright red from laughing, misty frost from his hot breath mixing in the air around him. He’s sitting on one of the outdoor couches. A piece of furniture meant for outdoor use that’s more exquisite than most of the furniture in Bucky’s house. Sitting on the couch with him is Steve. Actually, Steve is laying across the couch with his head in Quill’s lap. They look cozy and chummy, and it turns out they’re the ones smoking the weed. Quill’s got a joint in between his fingers and he’s holding it to Steve’s lips so that Steve can take a pull from it. 

The sight makes Bucky’s insides freeze. The night seems to have slapped him on the back. Hard enough to knock the wind out of him. Bucky doesn’t know why. It’s not seeing Steve getting high. Fucked if Bucky cares. No, it’s not the smoking. It’s seeing Steve so comfortably snuggled up with someone. Which makes no sense. Bucky shouldn’t feel this way when he sees Steve like that with Quill. Sure, once upon a time ago, Steve would cuddle up with Bucky in a shared sleeping bag during sleepovers or pretend campouts. Maybe Steve would let Bucky toss his arm around his shoulders while they walked to and from the playground. And maybe Bucky was the _only_ one Steve ever let be affectionate with him like that other than his mom and even in the fifth grade he thought that made him special. But all that’s over now. So seeing Steve curled up with Quill shouldn’t make Bucky feel like he’s been punched in the stomach. 

Because they’re not friends anymore. They were friends a long time ago. Then Steve left. It sucked for a little bit, but whatever. Bucky moved onto middle school and that was that. He still had his friends and he excelled and everything was great. Until Steve came back. Steve came back and treated Bucky worse than if something _had_ happened between them. Steve treated Bucky like they’d never once interacted. With complete and utter indifference. Nothing could have prepared Bucky for how much that hurt. He just never expected Steve -- _Steve_ of all people -- to treat him like that. To see him for the first time in four years and to just… walk by him. Without a word, without an acknowledgement, without even a real look in his direction. 

Thing is, Steve treated pretty much _everyone_ like that. So Bucky accepted it. Sucked it up and moved on. Again. Sure, Steve’s buddy’s with Sam Wilson and, okay, he dated Peggy Carter, and yes, he’s friends with Peter Quill. But the Steve Bucky knew -- sorta shy and quiet, but also rambunctious as hell and passionate and stubborn and the nicest guy in the whole fucking world -- left years ago and someone else came back. Someone rude and disrespectful and who really didn’t give a shit about anyone but himself. At least, Bucky thought so. So Bucky’s never seen him get close to any of them. And for some reason, he assumed that privilege was still his. Bucky didn’t realize he thought that until seeing Steve with Quill right now, but apparently it was a pretty strong feeling since it seriously feels like he’s been punched in the fucking stomach. 

Bucky just stands there for a second as Quill goes on singing and Steve starts cracking up, smothering his face in Quill’s stomach. Steve’s hands fly up to his ears like he’s desperate to block out the sounds of Quill’s voice -- which is pretty god awful -- and they’re both giggling as the smoke from their joint circles around them. Bucky turns. He’s not sure where he’s headed. He just knows he wants to get out of there. Fast. 

In doing so, he ends up bumping into Sharon Carter. Sharon happens to be Peggy’s younger sister. Like Thor and Loki, they’re so different it makes Bucky laugh. Sharon is something of a rebel. While they both want to make changes and fight for justice, Peggy prefers formal actions like her petitions and raising awareness. Sharon prefers more radical actions like simply breaking the dress codes Peggy’s fighting to change and refusing to leave school premises when she’s told to. Sharon’s looks make her stand out a bit, too. Her bright blonde hair is shaved underneath and has pink highlights through it. She has a piercing in her lip and multiple rings in both her ears, none of which are matching. _Unlike_ Thor and Loki -- who might kill for each other but are also constantly at each other’s throats -- Peggy and Sharon get along famously. 

Bucky stops to talk with Sharon for a little bit. As an athlete, too -- Sharon plays volleyball and soccer -- they end up chatting long enough that Bucky’s phone starts buzzing with a few texts from Tasha and Clint wondering where he is. Not unusual. Bucky’s been gone for a little more than thirty minutes already. After a quick goodbye to Sharon, Bucky heads back to Tony’s room. He takes one glance back at the roof before going through the sliding glass doors, but Steve and Quill are gone.

It’s not that Bucky actually goes looking for them either, but he does happen to find them. Or, rather, they spot him. Quill does anyway. Other than the one session they got at the beginning of the week, Steve has gone back to ignoring Bucky. But as Bucky passes by the kitchen on his way back to Tony’s room, Quill shouts for him.

“Hey! Bucky fuckin’ Barnes!” 

The shout makes Bucky stumble to a halt. He peers into the kitchen to see Steve sitting the center island -- facing away from him -- while Quill pokes at some of the food left out on the counter. 

“What’s up, Quill?” 

“ _Star-Lord_ , man! Star…” Quill sighs and shakes his head. “Forget it.”

Bucky needs to hold in a chuckle as he takes just a step into the kitchen with them and leans against the doorframe. And to be polite, he nods at Steve even though Steve’s back is to him. 

“Steve.”

Steve glances over his shoulder then. His eyes are glassy and bloodshot, and the cuts and bruises on his face are doing a lot better, but he still has that band-aid over his nose and, much to Bucky’s utter dismay, it still looks cute as hell. Instead of actually responding to Bucky’s greeting, he just looks at him for a second and then starts giggling as if Bucky’s presence amuses him. Before Bucky can respond to Steve’s sudden laughter, Quill punches Steve in the arm. Makes Steve gasp and spin back around.

“Hey, ow!” Steve laughs. Grabs at his shoulder and spits out another giggle. “What was that for?”

“Don’t be a dick, Steve,” Quill scolds. Laughs as well, but he does sound like he means it.

“I _wasn’t_! I… oh, come on, he knows I’m fuckin’ around.” Steve glances over his shoulder again and holds back another laugh. “Besides,” he says. Chewing on his tongue to bite back that laugh still sneaking up on him. “Barnes is gonna cure me of my misplaced _anger_ and _violent_ tendencies, ain’t that right, Barnes?” 

Misplaced anger and violent tendencies. Bucky wonders if that’s how Mr. Pierce has been describing Steve. The words that have been written across his permanent record to be used in a case to have him expelled. On Monday, Bucky would have agreed, and the thought of agreeing with anything Mr. Pierce has to say makes him sick to his stomach. Especially after spending that little bit of time with Steve _before_ he snapped at him. Bucky’s not so sure what to think of Steve now. They didn’t have time for a second session, so all Bucky has to go on is that interaction and the past few years of being mostly ignored. But, to be honest, misplaced anger and violent tendencies don’t really fit Steve. A heightened sense of moral justice and code of honor? Unable to back down if he sees a situation pointed south? _That’s_ Steve. That's Steve to a T.

Still, right now, Bucky ignores Steve -- because not only is he stoned, but, like Quill said, acting like a dick -- and looks back to Quill again. 

“Did you need something, Quill?”

Quill grins and now he keeps laughing, too, but he’s also trying to say something. 

“So, check it out, me an' Steve here got a hankerin’ for _something_...” he says, then gestures to the spread he was picking at when Bucky got there. “But as you can see, the pickings are… a little… slim?”

“In other words,” Bucky replies as he moves towards the pantry. Translates what Quill probably just said into English. “You have the munchies and want something a bit more suitable to satisfy that.” 

Throwing his arms up over his head, Quill hoots and then pumps his fist while Steve puts on finger on his nose and points another finger right at Bucky as though Bucky’s done something miraculous. 

“Look at the big brains on Barnes!” Steve exclaims. “Smart guy, ain’t he, Star-Lord?” Bucky’s trying really hard to remember that Steve is stoned right now. It’s not that easy when he goes on to say, “You know, Barnes likes to eat onions with peanut butter?”

Bucky’s hand freezes on the package of cookies he was just about to grab off the shelf in the pantry for them. It crinkles under his touch. A loud, mean sound that mocks Bucky just like Steve’s words. 

“Ew.” Quill chuckles. “Seriously?”

“Yup,” Steve agrees. Though Bucky has his back to him as he stares at the unhelpful package, he can tell Steve is looking at him as he goes on. “Know how I found _that_ out?”

It was an accident. One that Bucky hasn’t thought about any time recently but still remembers like it was yesterday. 

Steve had come to his house for a sleepover for the first time. He had gone straight to Bucky’s from school since his mom was working a double shift at the hospital. The whole thing had been arranged by Miss Agatha and Sarah. Miss Agatha was the one who usually arranged play dates and such for Bucky at the time since his parents worked so much then. Everything had been fine. They were playing video games and put together a city of Legos and Bucky caved in letting Becky play cops and robbers with them when Steve whined along with her. Pizza was served for dinner which they were allowed to eat in the kitchen alone while everyone else ate in the dining room. They were planning to have a Harry Potter marathon all night long. Mom brought up a bunch of snacks in the middle of movie number two. Popcorn and cookies and Bucky’s favorite -- onions and peanut butter sandwiches. 

Some of that peanut butter -- which Steve didn’t even realize had been there -- got onto a cookie that Steve popped into his mouth. As soon as he started chewing, he spat it out all over the place. At first, assuming it was the taste that had Steve spitting everywhere, Bucky laughed. The laugh faded when he saw the terrified look on Steve’s face. 

“Steve?” Bucky squeaked as patches of red started forming on Steve’s cheeks. “Stevie, what’s wrong?”

Steve couldn’t answer, though. Of course he couldn’t. His throat was closing up because he had just accidentally ingested a mouthful of peanut butter and Steve was allergic to peanuts. 

Bucky remembers how fucking scared he’d been to see Steve suddenly crawling to his bag where he pulled out something that Bucky thought was a pen -- he found out later it was an Epipen -- and then stabbed himself in the leg with it. 

Tears in both their eyes, Bucky went to scream for his mom as soon as Steve pulled the Epipen away from his leg. Only Steve wouldn’t let him. 

“No, please!” he argued. Holding onto his throat as he tried to catch his breath. “They’ll make me… make me go to a hospital! I don’t wanna go back, Bucky! Not again. Please, don’t say nothin’!”

“But, Steve…”

“Please, Bucky, _please_.” Those tears suddenly spilled over Steve’s eyes, and if there was one thing Bucky had learned in the few months of knowing Steve it was that he held back his tears. Didn’t let anyone get wet with his sorrows or see his emotions. Steve _didn’t_ cry in front of anyone and there he was crying in front of Bucky. “Promise me you won’t. I’m all better now, I promise. I had my medicine. I won’t tell either.” Steve crossed his heart. “I swear.”

They were both crying then. Both shaking. If the grown-ups thought that Steve should go to the hospital, maybe that was the best thing to do. But Steve was crying so hard and begging Bucky not to say anything and Bucky couldn’t tell if he was _afraid_ to go back to the hospital -- which would be weird because Steve wasn’t afraid of anything -- or if he didn’t want to go back for some _other_ reason. And then it occurred to Bucky that Steve didn’t want to go back. _Back_. Bucky had only had to stay at the hospital one time. Overnight for a fever and he barely even remembered it. Steve had told Bucky about various trips and stays. Operations and recoveries and illnesses. Of course Steve didn’t want to go back. He’d already gone _so_ many times. 

Bucky took one good look at Steve’s weepy blue eyes and big, trembling lip and knew he’d do just about anything for him.

“Okay,” Bucky whispered. Hugged Steve close and rubbed his back. “I won’t tell no one.”

“Promise, Bucky?” Steve whimpered.

“I promise, Stevie.”

Steve let Bucky hold him like that even after he calmed down. In fact, when Bucky tried to move to get the remote, Steve tightened his grip around Bucky’s waist so that he could only reach for it. Bucky smiled and got them comfortable with a blanket around them. Steve even fell asleep that way during the fourth Harry Potter movie. Tucked in Bucky’s arms. Bucky didn’t sleep at all that night. He stayed awake the whole time. Just to make sure that Steve never stopped breathing. 

Bucky’s never told anyone that last part. Not any of it actually. Not even Natasha or Clint. As far as he knows, Steve never did either. Until right now. When he gives Peter Quill a watered-down version of it. 

“No shit, did that really happen?” Quill asks. “For real?”

He and Steve are both laughing. Maybe the story would be funny if Bucky hadn’t been so damn afraid that night. Or if Steve had brought it up privately. Not like this though. Whether Steve is stoned or not, hurt settles deep within Bucky’s bones at the story he’s told. 

“Yeah,” Bucky grunts before Steve can say anything else. He finally grabs that package of Oreos and a jar of strawberry jelly. “I didn’t sleep at all. I held him in my arms that whole night. I’d never been so fuckin’ scared in my life. Here. Enjoy.” 

Bucky tosses the cookies onto the island next to Steve and drops the jar on top of it. Steve looks down at the items and the laughter slowly dies down. Suddenly very quiet, he reaches for the jar of jelly, and at the same time, Quill goes for the cookies. 

“Oo! Oreos! Thanks, Barnes!” Quill is already tearing into the package and stuffing a full cookie into his mouth. It’s still full when he grins and thanks him again.

“Yeah, no problem.”

Still staring at the jar of jelly, Steve turns it over in his hands before glancing up again. His mouth opens not once, but twice. The start of two never-heard statements because Steve never does get them out. Instead, he twists his lips and runs his fingers over the top of the jar. No longer do his eyes hold any venom. There's no mocking in them either. He looks at Bucky now with shock and confusion. Like he wishes he could figure out a way to spit out whatever words have curdled around his tongue.

“Um,” he finally whispers. "Th-thanks..."

“Mhm,” Bucky replies. “Whatever.”

Steve continues to give Bucky that look as Bucky leaves the kitchen to go back to his friends who are waiting for him. Mildly shocked, maybe confused, even a little guilty. As if he can’t believe that Bucky’s remembered his love for dipping Oreos in strawberry jelly. 


	6. Breakfast is the Most Important Meal of the Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky gets a very unexpected invite

The rest of the weekend played out as usual. Well, as usual as it can be for a weekend at Tony’s. After Bucky’s little run-in with Steve, he hurried back to meet up with all his friends again. The second he got back to Tony’s room he was welcomed with joyous cheers and hugs as if he’d been gone for years. Though what happened with Steve was in there somewhere, Bucky pushed it to the back of his mind. No way was he going to let Steve ruin his fun. And he didn’t. Bucky went back in and had a great time with his friends. 

They continued pigging out and dancing and playing games. There were laughs and snapchats and ridiculous selfies. Pics shared on Instagram and Tweets about the night that, honestly, no one remembered tweeting. 

Saturday was glorious. No one was up before noon. Actually, Tony was, but he was kind enough to do his tinkering in another room and allowed everyone else to keep sleeping. Once everyone was up, Tony asked Mr. Jarvis to order them all brunch from “the usual” place. Bucky wasn’t -- still isn’t -- sure where “the usual” place was since Mr. Jarvis had all the food ready on platters by the time they all ambled into the dining room. 

They spent the rest of the day vegging out and come that night they were all rested up to start it all over again. Saturday night was a _little_ more subdued than Friday. There was no foam anyway and not _as_ many people. But it was still a blast. A night filled with laughs and smiles and a few arguments here and there, but nothing major. 

By Sunday morning, Bucky’s phone was blowing up with texts from Becky informing him that their parents were starting to get a _little_ irritated that he hadn’t even called since Friday. He knew Natasha had been in contact with her parents throughout the weekend and Clint, who lives with his older brother, probably checked in with him but he wouldn’t get bug by him. Even though he _really_ didn’t want to, Bucky dragged himself out of bed before noon, said his goodbyes to his friends and gave his thanks to Tony, and then headed home. 

Where Sophia was running around with a towel around her shoulders like a cape as she pretended to be a superhero and Dad chased her as her nemesis. Lauren and Nicole occupied almost the entire living room with some school project that they were arguing over as they actually worked together, and Becky was following Mom around as they discussed the budget -- again -- for the dress for the Junior Prom.

Chaos. 

Bucky said hi and then spent as much time as necessary down there with everyone -- _yes, I had a good time. Yeah, Tasha was there. Ugh, nothing happened!_ \-- and then fell back into bed. Slept until dinner and went down for roast beef and potatoes -- three different kinds cause it’s not like anyone can decide on one type. Like breakfast, dinner is noisy and always sees everyone talking at once and clean up is even more hectic. 

Afterward, Bucky went back upstairs, did some homework, texted a bit with Natasha and Clint -- the latter insisting they should all take a personal day tomorrow -- and then went back to bed. Even if Bucky didn’t want to admit it, he was a bit hungover. 

Now, though, now Bucky stands in front of his open locker. Without Clint at his side for the usual company since that shithead really did decide to cut today. Bucky’s actually still kinda beat. He’s not really sure why, though. This past weekend wasn’t his first weekend partying at Tony’s place. Still, he stares at the inside of his locker trying to remember what he needs for his first class while feeling like he hasn’t had a decent rest in quite a while. 

Behind him, Bucky can hear some people buzzing about the parties and other things that went on the weekend. A few people greet him, but it’s Monday, and if there’s one thing ninety-nine percent of the student population of, well, _every_ school, Bucky guesses, can agree on it’s a shared hatred for Monday mornings. Mondays period. Why can’t the week start on Tuesday?

Bucky’s internally debating whether or not it’s better to start on Tuesday or end on Thursday when there’s a tap on his right shoulder. He looks over. To see no one there. But a laugh comes from his left and instead of simply looking over that way, Bucky turns around in a full circle to get there. And is a little shocked to see Steve, arms crossed and head tilted, leaning his shoulder up against the locker next to his. Devilish little smirk curled up on his lips as if sneaking up on Bucky like that is a new and clever trick. He’s wearing his glasses today so his eyes are a little more hidden than usual and Bucky tries to pretend that he doesn’t notice that. 

“What do you want, Steve?” Bucky grumbles as he finally reaches into his locker for the books he needs.

Sure, he may have been drinking the other night and Steve was stoned, but Bucky remembers very clearly what happened. Not only is today Monday, but Bucky’s also scheduled to be meeting with Steve again after school and, well, he’s just not looking forward to it. Feeling is probably mutual. Well, he thinks anyway. But Steve just flicks his eyebrows up and the dimple on his left cheek deepens when his smirk does.

“Come on, Barnes,” he says. Jerks his head a bit towards the middle of the hall. “Come get breakfast with me.”

The day pulses with shock and surprise. A sundrop spilling hot and blinding over a bland and dreary morning. Bucky nearly drops his books right back into his locker at Steve’s request -- though he’s worded it much more like a friendly demand -- hits him. He looks back at Steve to find him looking at him with the exact same expression while all Bucky can do is gape at him. 

“What?”

“Breakfast. You know, that meal people usually eat in the morning?” 

“Yes, I _know_ what breakfast is, Steve.”

“Oh, good.” Steve chuckles. “Then I don’t need to give our Valedictorian a vocab lesson. So, come on. Let’s go.”

“I have class, Steve,” Bucky says. As if that’s the best argument he has against going with him now and _not_ the fact that the most interaction they’ve had over the past three years have taken place over the past week. “I can’t.”

Steve snickers and lets his head drop against the locker. “So? You’re a senior. You’ve skipped class before, haven’t you?”

Cheeks burning, Bucky ducks his head down. While he’s no goodie-two-shoes, Bucky hasn’t cut just a single class since the ninth grade. He’s cut a full day here and there. Mental health days. Next to him, Steve chuckles again. 

“Why would I go to breakfast with you anyway?”

“Mmm,” Steve hums and turns so that his back is up against the lockers now. He looks up at the ceiling and sucks in a deep enough breath that his chest inflates. “ _Because_ … I was kind’ve an ass on Friday. And maybe on Tuesday, too.” He tilts his head back in Bucky’s direction and grins. Shrugs, too. “So to make up for that, I’m gonna take you out to breakfast.”

“You’ve been an ass for, like, three years, Steve.”

Steve looks away again with a twist of his lips. Bucky can’t tell if he agrees with what he’s just said or not, but it looks as though Steve’s turning the thought over in his mind.

“And apparently I’ve been an ass for three years,” he mutters. Looks back at Bucky with that smirk again. “So come on.” Steve pushes away from the lockers and backs away a few steps. “Lemme make it up to you.”

“By… taking me…” Bucky can’t believe he’s saying this, and to Steve Rogers, “to breakfast?”

Looking at him from over the top of his glasses, Steve peers at Bucky with those big blue eyes of his. They sparkle a bit. Even more when he lifts his eyebrows. Giving Bucky this sweet, endearing looking. One that Bucky remembers very clearly.

“Come on, Bucky,” Steve says, and Bucky’s breath catches in his throat as his name rolls so sweetly off of Steve’s tongue. “Come to breakfast with me.” 

Bucky really wishes Steve wasn’t looking at him like that. With those eyes of his so wide and round. Bottom lip pushed out _just_ a little bit. Head tilted slightly. It’s a dangerous look. One Bucky suddenly feels powerless to resist. Bucky’s heart is pounding so fucking hard right now as he reaches into his locker again to toss his books back in and retrieve his jacket. 

Hands now stuffed in the front pocket of his hoodie, Steve grins like he knows he’s just gotten what he wanted, the little shit. Still, he doesn’t take any time to gloat and just turns on his heels with the confidence that Bucky’s going to follow. Which he is. Fucked if Bucky knows _why_ he’s following Steve, but he is. Bucky follows him right out the front doors of the school as though it’s perfectly commonplace for two students to just walk out of the building just as first period starts. 

They end up at a diner about two blocks away from the school. A greasy spoon sort of place with shiny glass walls on the outside and big, red booths on the inside. There are stools at the counter and a glass case filled with starchy treats that probably look a lot better than they taste. Bucky and Steve get seated in a booth at the end of the middle row. 

The walk to the place was silent but as Steve slides into the seat and flips his menu open, he glances over at Bucky and smirks. 

“Did you have fun?” he asks. 

“Sure,” Bucky replies. “A two-block hike through the blistering cold while cutting class is always fun.”

That smirk deepens. “Nice. I meant this weekend.”

“Ah. Yeah. Do you usually go to Tony’s parties?”

Steve’s now looking over his menu. Needs to push his glasses back up since they slip down his nose a bit. He shrugs. 

“Sometimes. If I feel like it.”

“I didn’t know you liked getting high.”

Eyes flicking back to Bucky, Steve lets his menu drop to the table and rests his hands over it. One over the other.

“Getting high?” he repeats. Drums his fingers slowly over the menu they’re on. Making sticky tap, tap, tap noises over the laminate. “On medical marijuana?” 

The way Steve looks at him makes Bucky wonder whether or not he’s teasing him. Given Steve’s track record with illnesses, it wouldn’t surprise Bucky to find out that he needed the stuff. 

“You were sharing your _medical_ marijuana with Peter Quill?” Bucky questions. 

Only answering that question with a shrug, Steve picks the menu back up. Bucky’s still not sure if Steve was smoking the weed for recreational and medical use. He doesn’t get another chance to ask about it though. A waitress comes over. 

“Good morning, boys,” she greets. “Know what you’re having yet?”

“Hiya, Lorna,” Steve says. At first, Bucky thinks he knows her but then realizes that Steve’s just read her name tag. “Yeah, can I have the breakfast sampler? With chocolate chip pancakes instead of buttermilk?”

“Sure thing, hun. And you?”

She turns her attention to Bucky, who realizes he hasn’t even glanced at the menu. He flips it open and scans it quickly. Orders himself a country omelette with ham, cheese, and onions. A side of hashbrowns. Both of them ask for glasses of orange juice and their waitress shuffles away to put their orders in. And then there’s nothing to be used as a distraction. Though it doesn’t seem that Steve needs one. He just laces his fingers and throws his hands over his head. Looks at Bucky with a tiny grin. 

“Congrats by the way,” he says. “I never said that last week. Told you. I was being an ass.”

“I know you were.” Bucky sighs. Picks up one of the plastic creamer cups and starts rolling it between his thumb and index finger. “Thanks. You know we’re supposed to meet today, right? For another session?”

Steve nods. 

“Yes, officer. I’ll be there.” He stretches his arms above his head. “I didn’t get into any more fights last week.”

“I know.” Bucky can’t help it. He chuckles and deadpans, “How impressive.”

“Hey!” Steve gives him this pouty look that Bucky hasn’t seen him give in years. Bucky didn’t think Steve was the kind of guy to make it anymore, but, as he’s starting to see more and more, Steve’s full of surprises. “I’m very fucking impressive!”

Bucky laughs and passes a hand over his face, ending the laugh with a quiet groan. Nerves poke at his insides. Tap dancing quietly along muscles and bones, and yet, a part of Bucky feels perfectly at ease. Sitting here with Steve Rogers. What the hell is he doing?

“For not getting into any fights? I didn’t get into any fights either, you know.”

For a second, Steve just stares at him before twisting his face and grumbling to himself with that little smirk still on his lips. He ends up slouching down in his seat and Bucky glances to his side when he feels the seat shifting beneath him. Sees both of Steve’s feet pushed up against the edge of the bench and sorta boxing him in. 

“So… Bucky Barnes,” Steve says. Taps his toes. One foot at a time. “You still writing?”

Since the waitress has just brought over their drinks, Bucky nearly chokes on his as he goes to take a sip of it. That’s pretty much the last thing he expected Steve to ask just now. He hasn’t talked about his writing with anyone in years. Last time he did was probably in the ninth grade when he and his parents sat down to discuss Bucky’s future. 

That’s when they worked out a plan on how to help him reach his goals. It was a several week process. One that included ideas on what activities would be best to go towards his college applications that Bucky also enjoyed doing, and thoughts he had on going away to school versus staying close to home, and, of course, what he thought he might want to concentrate on. Which schools would be best for him. Landing on Harvard as his goal. 

A few ideas were tossed around. Things Bucky had been considering since he was little. Business management. Political science -- which is what’s been decided and Bucky’s parents think he’ll make a huge difference in the world. Still, Bucky, for a fleeting moment, wondered about writing. 

“What do you mean?” Dad asked. “What kind of writing?”

“Well, like, y’know, creative writing?” Bucky said. “Like… y’know?”

“So…” Mom glanced at Dad and then Bucky. “Maybe, teaching? Education?”

No. No, that’s not what he meant. Bucky didn’t want to teach. Not that he had anything _against_ teaching. In fact, it was _once_ something he thought of. But on further thought, it just wasn’t for him. Not with the way the system worked. What Bucky wanted to do was _write_. Come up with and expand upon the stories that were in his head already. Bucky had been weaving tales ever since he was a kid. Stories about diamonds in the rough and unlikely heroes and love in unexpected places. 

“Oh, but, that’s more of a hobby, isn’t it, Buck?” Dad questioned when he expanded upon his possible desires. “I mean, what sort of job security can you get with that?”

Dad probably had a point. What the hell would Bucky ever do with a creative writing degree? It’s not like he’d ever be the next Stephen King or something. Bucky dropped it. Tucked it in the back of his mind where it’s been folded up neatly and gathering dust ever since. Mostly. Except on those occasions when a wind will blow through and disturb everything in there. Makes Bucky wonder… what _if_? He quit the writing club after that, though. Just a waste of time.

“I’m going to be a political science major,” Bucky tells Steve. 

The words just sorta burst out of him. They sound harsh and defensive. As if Steve’s just said something mean that Bucky needs to correct when all he’s done is ask a pretty straightforward question. Way back when it’d been like pulling teeth to get Steve to show Bucky his drawings. The same could be said about Bucky and his writing. Steve was one of the very few he shared them with. Maybe… maybe Steve still thinks about that. 

But Steve tilts his head and pulls his eyebrows in when Bucky gives him that response. 

“Okay? I mean, that’s not what I asked you, but okay.” Steve grabs a packet of sweet-and-low and tears it open. Licks the tip of his finger and dips it into fake sugar so he can lick it off. Then he looks back at Bucky like he’s both amused and confused. “Political science? _Really_? You?”

And now Bucky _is_ offended. What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean? 

“ _Yes_ , political science. What of it?”

“Nothing, nothing!” Steve chuckles and holds out his palms. But then, this is Steve and Steve goes on to say, “It’s just… _really_?”

Bucky snorts. He can’t tell if Steve is busting his balls or speaking out of genuine curiosity. Either way, Bucky’s kinda positive that he’s not _trying_ to be rude. 

“Yes, Steve. Political science. Why? What’s the big deal?”

“I dunno.” Steve shrugs as he goes on eating the packet of sweet-and-low. Talking to Bucky but paying closer attention to dipping his finger into the sugar. “What’re you gonna do? Be a politician or something?”

Bucky watches as Steve brings his finger up to his mouth again. Gently sucks the sugar off before sticking it back in the package for some more. His belly is acting strangely. So is his heart. They’re not cooperating with each other. Actually, maybe they are. They’re just working against Bucky at the moment. 

“Um, yeah. Or… like, law, or something,” Bucky mumbles. “Like my dad.” 

That makes Steve chuckle, but he’s still paying closer attention to the sugar than he is to the conversation they’re having.

“Is that why you’re doing the peer mediator thing? Cause you wanna be a lawyer?”

“No. I’m doing it because Mr. Coulson asked me to.”

Once again, that devilish smirk pulls up on Steve’s face. “So it has nothing to do with actually wanting to help me.”

It’s a joke. Steve is just trying to push his buttons again. Tease him. The thing is, Steve is wrong. The main reason Bucky agreed to work with him is that he knew Steve wouldn’t listen to anyone else. Bucky’s still surprised that he’s even as cooperative as he’s being with him. 

“I said yes, didn’t I?”

His statement catches Steve’s attention. He looks at Bucky as though he’s said something shocking to him. 

“Why?” he asks after a moment. “I mean, we haven’t…” A blush actually kisses Steve’s cheeks. Seems there’s still a bashful side to him. “I’m sorry to _inconvenience_ you.” Sounds like Steve is trying to be a smartass, but then rethinks that and sighs. “Sorry. I… it’s not _your_ fault I gotta do this.”

Bucky can’t help but wonder if Steve’s talking about the whole thing in particular or if he’s talking about being stuck with him. He assumes it’s the former. Steve probably wouldn’t want to take a chance cutting class to go to breakfast with Bucky if he despised him _that_ much. 

“Mr. Pierce,” Bucky suggests. 

“What?”

“You said he didn’t listen to your side of the story, right?” Not that it’s hard to believe. “It’s his fault we’re stuck together.”

It’s meant to be a joke. Just to make Steve laugh because Bucky’s now wondering if he can still make Steve laugh. But Steve doesn’t even crack a smile. Steve’s face actually starts turning red now. Like Mr. Pierce is right there with them. 

“Pierce is such an ass,” he grumbles. Not commenting at all on Bucky’s teasing remark. “He’s had it out for me ever since I _got_ to this fuckin’ school. Just because…”

Steve snaps his mouth shut there. As if he was just about to say something he’d regret. To be honest, Bucky has no clue what he could be talking about. Not that that does anything to quell his curiosity. If Steve thinks Mr. Pierce has a predetermined opinion on him, he must have some reason behind it. 

“Just because what?” 

For a moment, Bucky can just stare blankly at him. Whatever first happened between Steve and Mr. Pierce happened in the middle of the ninth grade. That’s when Steve came back. Smack in the middle of the year. Right around the same time, Bucky went to see Mr. Pierce the first time to talk about the slurs and offensive locker room talk. Bucky should have cut his losses after that first try. If he had known then what he knows now about the way Mr. Pierce operates, he’d have never tried in the first place. 

But Bucky can tell a subject change when he hears one. Clearly, that’s not something Steve’s interested in talking about. 

“You know where you’re going yet?” Steve says. Puts a grin on his face as he sucks more sugar off his finger. “I heard you got accepted into some pretty snazzy schools.”

“I got into Columbia and Brown.” Steve is looking at the sugar packet but makes an impressed expression. “I’m still waiting to hear back from a few others and Harvard.” 

Steve’s eyebrows go up. “Harvard, huh? Is that your top school?”

Bucky nods. “We’ve planned on it since the end of middle school.” 

“We?”

“Me and my parents. After we broke everything down, we figured that Harvard was best for my future.”

“For your future,” Steve repeats like he’s confused about this. “But is it where _you_ want to go?”

That, Bucky doesn’t answer right away. He’s not sure how. No one’s ever asked him that before. Well, not like _that_ anyway. As if his choice to go to Harvard is something he should rethink. 

“I mean… I worked my ass off. And it’s… I mean, it’s _Harvard_.” 

“That’s not what I asked you.” 

“Well, I dunno, Steve, it’s _Harvard_. It’s a great school, y’know? Why wouldn’t my parents want me going there?”

Not to mention it’s been the plan for as long as he can remember talks of college starting. Following his father’s footsteps and going to his Alma Mater. If Bucky gets in, they’ll be so proud. 

“I dunno. Just sounds more like their plan than yours.” 

“It’s my plan,” Bucky mutters. “And I’ve got a scholarship meeting in a few weeks.” 

Bucky’s been working on his essay -- which he needs to present orally to the scholarship committee -- for weeks now. What he sees as today’s single most important societal problem. He’s written about inequality and injustice. 

“Besides,” Bucky continues, “where are _you_ going?” 

Steve shrugs.

“Nowhere, probably.”

“N-nowhere?” That doesn’t make sense. For all the trouble he’s always getting into, Bucky knows that Steve’s a good student anyway. He doesn’t know where he falls in the class’s ranking, but Steve’s always been smart. “Why? What’re you gonna do?”

“Mm.” Steve smirks. “Ask me again sometime. So, political science, huh? That’s funny.”

“Why is that funny?”

Steve’s eyes flick up as though he hadn’t realized that his amusement has been so clear on the outside. 

“I just… I dunno, that doesn’t really sound like you.”

“What do you mean? You don’t even know me.”

A smile twitches on the corners of Steve’s mouth. He crumples up the packet he’s been eating sugar out of and tosses it to the side of the table. 

“Sure I do. You’re Bucky Barnes.” He flings his arms out at Bucky to make this wide gesture towards him. In doing so, his feet _almost_ slip from where he’s still pushing them on Bucky’s seat, but he manages to keep them up there. “You look at the sky when it rains and you mutter to yourself when you read.” Well shit. “You probably have ink on the side of your left hand.” Bucky pulls both his hands off the table and places them in his lap. He peeks at the left one as Steve goes on to see it does, in fact, have ink on it. “You’re dating Natasha Romanoff--” Steve’s voice gets lower and somewhat suggestive -- “Good for you, dude. She’ll keep you in shape.” Bucky snorts and doesn’t comment. Not that he could. Steve still has more to say. “You’re best friend’s with Clint Barton. You’re telling me you want to go into political science, but… I dunno, Buck…” Steve shrugs. “That just doesn’t feel like something you _really_ want to do.”

“I wanna…” Bucky’s not sure how to put this. Each and every time he’s discussed it with other people -- his parents, his grade advisor, relatives -- it made perfect sense. For some reason, right now, all the thoughts seem to have gotten jumbled up inside his head. Like holiday lights that have been packed away and got tangled up and knotted in their box over the months. “I wanna help people.”

A finger is suddenly being shoved towards him as Steve points right at Bucky with an excited smile and this all-knowing glow all around him. 

“Ah-ha! Now _that_ I can buy!” he exclaims. “But think about all the lives you’d touch with the stories in your head. You know how many kids’ll love reading about Grey McQueen?” 

Grey McQueen. Bucky can hardly believe his ears. That was a character Bucky came up with so many years ago. A space cowboy sorta deal. An outlaw who didn’t care about the law in the name of doing what was right. He was Steve’s favorite. Bucky would tell him Grey McQueen stories for hours when Steve was sick during the winter they spent together. But that was so long ago. Bucky hasn’t thought about it in years. The fact that Steve’s just dropped the name of the character like they were talking about it yesterday makes his head spin.

All he can do right now is stare at Steve. Steve swipes up his glass and starts taking a big gulp of his juice before he notices. 

“What?” Steve asks as soon as he swallows. “What’d I do?”

“You… you remember that?” Bucky asks. 

“Remember what?”

“Remember…” He can’t be serious. “Grey McQueen?”

Steve’s eyes bug out as though Bucky’s just asked him something absurd yet shocking. 

“Dude! Of _course_ , I remember Grey McQueen!” Steve’s eyes catch something to the side and he rubs his hands together. “Ooo! Food!”

The waitress is coming back over with their meals now and Steve looks positively thrilled about it. Steve doesn’t seem thrown off by anything as the waitress places his food down in front of him. He rubs his hands together again and then immediately starts drenching his pancakes in maple syrup. He doesn’t say another word about Grey McQueen and Bucky’s still completely flabbergasted as he glances down at his own meal. Simple and boring in comparison. 

Bucky’s omelette -- while looking and smelling delicious -- looks quite lonely sitting on the place with no other food for company. Steve’s meal, on the other hand, consists of two eggs -- sunnyside up -- two strips of bacon, two sausage links, two slices of ham, a side of hashbrowns _and_ a plate of pancakes. Fork in hand, Bucky once again finds himself just watching Steve as he starts to dig in. Steve is about to eat his first bite when he notices this time. 

“ _What_?” he asks. “Why do you keep starin’ at me?”

Steve’s right. Bucky does keep on staring at him. It’s just… Bucky thinks he might have missed this. Missed being around Steve without even realizing he missed being around Steve. It’s just that it’s been so long and Bucky was convinced that Steve hated him. After being completely snubbed and ignored when Steve got back what other conclusions could Bucky have drawn? Maybe it was just… _easier_ to think that Steve had changed into someone different when that doesn’t seem to be the case at all.

In this particular moment, though, Bucky’s staring because of the ridiculous amount of food a guy who probably doesn’t weigh more than ninety pounds has ordered for himself. 

“That’s a ton of food.” Bucky chuckles. “You sure you’re gonna be able to eat all that?”

Steve rolls his eyes and flips him off as he shoves the fork into his mouth. His mouth is still full when he says, “Shut up. Eat your stinkin’ omelette. We gotta be back before second period.”

“Why?” Bucky asks as he slices into his food. “What happens then, you turn back into a pumpkin?”

“Ha ha.” Unlike before, this time a smile sneaks up on his lips. “I got class.”

It’s not that Bucky doesn’t plan on getting back in time for that anyway, but they’re already skipping. In fact, Steve teased him before about this very thing. 

“So? We’re cutting now anyway.”

“I’m not cutting, you’re cutting.”

The food Bucky’s just bit into sits on his tongue for a second as that sinks in. Bucky glances up at Steve to find him smirking at him again. 

“What do you mean?”

“I got no class first period. You’re the one cutting.” He tsks at him and Bucky’s shoulders fall. “What kind of valedictorian are you? Cutting class? Setting such a bad example for the rest of us?”

“What the _hell_ , Steve!” Bucky exclaims. 

He starts glancing around like he’s about to get caught doing something wrong. Well, he _is_ doing something wrong, but when it was him _and_ Steve it didn’t feel like that big of a deal. They were partners-in-crime at least. Now Bucky finds himself on an unplanned solo crime in progress and all Steve can do is sit there as he tries to stifle his giggles. Sorta tries to stifle his giggles. Behind his glasses, his eyes are all scrunched up and his cheeks are pink and his breaths keep getting caught in his throat. 

Narrowing his eyes at him, Bucky balls up a napkin and flings it across the table. He does it quickly enough that Steve has to jerk away to keep from getting hit with it. Bucky then shoves Steve’s feet off the seat. 

“It’s not funny,” Bucky grumbles. And tries his damndest to keep his own laugh from rising out of him. 

With his feet planted on the floor again, Steve straightens up, but is still laughing as he pinches his thumb and index finger together. 

“It’s a _little_ funny,” he says. “Admit it.”

Elbow on the table, Bucky scoffs and drops his head in his hand. He permits himself a tiny laugh as he shakes his head. When he looks back at Steve, Steve is shining with that adorable smile of his. Proud and mischievous at the same time. Has Bucky really gone all this time in the same school with him and _not_ noticed how precious Steve looks when he’s lit up like that? 

This is not the time to think about such things, though, so Bucky offers a smaller space between his fingers. 

“Maybe _that_ funny,” Bucky mutters and then _can’t_ hold the laugh back. “You’re such a little asshole.”

Steve nods. “I am an asshole.”

“I hate you.”

Steve laughs. More food filling his mouth and shakes his head. 

“You don’t hate me.”

He’s right. Bucky doesn’t hate him. He’s wanted to hate him. Has tried to hate him. Steve, as far as Bucky was concerned, picked fights and was rude and disrespectful and came back to school caring only about himself. The more Bucky’s thinks about it though -- and he’s been trying _not_ to think about it, but the thoughts have been sneaking in ever since last Tuesday -- most of the fights that Steve’s been in involved Rumlow or Hodge or one of their friends. Maybe Steve _seems_ disrespectful, but if he’s being treated the way he says Mr. Pierce treats him than perhaps it’s not quite as it seems. 

“I guess you’re right.” Bucky sighs. “I can’t remember, were you always such a pain in the ass?”

“Probably.” Steve grins as he dips some of his hashbrowns in the yolk of his eggs. “I don’t think too much has changed.”

No, it hasn’t. Sure, Steve is different now, but so is Bucky. But underneath, Steve hasn’t changed all that much. Bucky’s really starting to believe that now. That Steve is still pretty much that same kid who used to always have band-aids on his knees and elbows, and who used to carry around a notebook to doodle in when he felt like it, and was a little shy at first but never afraid to stand up for what he believed it. Which makes Bucky wonder whether or not he did something wrong. 

“Steve?” Bucky says quietly. All traces of humor gone. Steve glances up at him after taking another forkful of food. He’s been shoveling the stuff down like he hasn’t tasted something so good in years. “Can I ask you something?”

Slowing his chewing to a full stop, Steve looks back at him. There’s still food in his mouth and he takes a moment for swallowing it down. He sounds suspicious and cautious when he answers. 

“What is it?”

They both must have sensed the elephant in the room with them even if they were just pretending like it didn’t exist. The daunting question that’s been hanging over Bucky’s head. The answer that only Steve can give. Maybe Steve planned on ignoring it just like Bucky did. Bucky’s not so sure he can do that now. 

“What happened? Where’d you go?” he asks. Slowly. Nervous and even timid. “You just… disappeared.”

Surprisingly, Steve holds his gaze. Bucky has some trouble, but he manages. Neither of them looks away as Bucky brings the subject up. The subject that, Bucky’s sure, they’ve both been avoiding. Years ago they were friends. They got close enough in those few short months that they were best friends. Now it feels like just a moment. A blip in time that happened and sometimes Bucky wonders if he made the whole thing up.

“I…” Steve shrugs after pretty drawn out moment of silence. “I had to move.”

That’s the only explanation he gives. Steve says that and goes right back to eating his food, but Bucky can see the change. The immediate change. This whole time, Steve’s been relaxed and open. A smooth air of comfort that breathed around him. Now, Steve hunches over the table, hand clenched around his fork and jaw tight. 

Bucky’s sure he shouldn’t push. He can see that this subject makes Steve uncomfortable and puts him on edge. To be honest, it makes Bucky uncomfortable as well. 

And yet, he still finds himself saying, “That’s it? You just… had to--”

“Yeah, Barnes,” Steve growls. “I just hadda move, _okay_?”

No, it’s not okay. If Steve had to move away then fine. If he was too upset to tell anyone, that’s fine, too. He was just a little kid. It makes sense for him to have been really scared and angry if he suddenly had to move. But for him to come back and act like Bucky was just some random person? Just a face in the crowd that never meant anything to Steve? That’s just… 

Bucky sighs and slouches down a bit as he starts poking at what’s left of his omelette with his fork. Across from him, Steve’s slowed down in his eating. Actually, there’s only about half of his meal left. Steve’s practically devoured it. Now he just picks at it as silence descends upon them. Like a cold, wet blanket that’s been draped over them both. Until Steve shifts and there’s a foot on either side of Bucky again. This time, though, the toes of Steve’s right foot nudge Bucky’s knee. 

Peeking at him, Bucky sees Steve peering at him from over the top of his glasses. Expression softened and even a little guilty. Unlike last week, Steve isn’t storming out on him. This time, Steve looks back at Bucky like he’s sorry that he just snapped at him. He even stretches his lips a bit as though trying to express that without coming out and apologizing. 

Well, it’s not great, but Bucky’ll take it for now. Eventually though, if… _whatever_ this is, is going to continue, Steve’s gonna have to be a bit more open than this. Bucky gives Steve a soft grin. That’s it for now. Bygones be bygones. A temporary truce. Steve gets it and smiles back. Starts digging into his food again like it’d be some sort of crime if he didn’t get the chance to finish it. 

Cutting into his omelette again, Bucky starts eating too as he makes a mental list of things to avoid talking about with Steve for now. His mom, for some reason. Why Mr. Pierce had an opinion formed on him as soon as Steve transferred to the school. The whole story behind Steve’s sudden move. 

“So, you and Natasha, huh?” Steve asks, a couple of minutes later, as the air shifts to something a little more calm and normal. “That’s pretty cool.”

“Uh…” Bucky looks down at his plate. Pushes some of his food around. “Yeah. Me and Tasha.”

“How long have you two been a thing?”

The right answer to that would be since Pre-k. He and Tasha have been best buddies since then. Gone through thick and thin together. They’ve always been “a thing”. That’s not the _thing_ that Steve means though and so there’s only one answer for his question. 

“August,” Bucky replies automatically. “August 12th.” 

Six months now, though, it feels so much longer. Bucky approached her six months ago with his proposal. There had been awkward bumbling and terrible phrasing. Bucky had been so freaking nervous. But she wasn’t in a relationship with anyone and Bucky’s parents had started wondering if there was something wrong since the past year and a half he stopped dating altogether. At first, they were fine with it. Figured it would give Bucky a chance to focus more on his studies since Bucky had been floating from girl to girl before that as he denied the truth to himself. Once summer hit though, his parents started getting worried and that’s when the questions started. 

_Did something happen? Is everything all right? Are you depressed? Drinking? Drugs?_

So Bucky went to Tasha for some help. They were sitting in her room, stretched out across her bed. Just watching television when he finally worked up the nerve. At first, Natasha thought he was just fucking around. It took several minutes of falling all over his words to convince her otherwise.

“I just figured, I mean, y’know, you’re not dating anyone and I’m not dating anyone and, like, uh, I know we don’t _really_ want to date each other, but maybe if people _thought_ we were then… I mean it could be cool. Right? Just…”

“James,” Natasha whispered. Cutting him off and sitting up. She took his hands and held them in her lap. “Bucky, do you… do you want to pretend to date because…” Her eyes swept away and then back to him as she took a deep breath and said carefully, “Because you’re… y’know?”

Bucky still swears to this day that his heart actually stopped beating. It did. It had to have since his entire body felt like it just stopped working altogether. He hadn’t told anyone that. Still hasn’t. He’s never even really said it out loud. Not even to himself. And yet, Natasha was asking if he was gay. In so many words and without coming out and saying those words exactly, but Bucky understood. She wasn’t saying it like an ass the way Rumlow or Hodge always did. It was real and, for some reason, Bucky just burst into tears. 

Natasha held him for a bit as Bucky kept mumbling apologies while she assured him that they were fine. Everything was going to be okay.

“You can tell me anything, James,” she murmured. Kissed the top of Bucky’s head and hugged him closer. “Always.”

After discussing how to go about doing it, Natasha agreed to be his fake girlfriend. She’s been supporting and encouraging him the whole time since then. Assuring him that no one -- least of all Clint -- is going to be bothered by it. Bucky’s almost positive she’s right but, like with his parents and sisters, those horrible two words terrify him and keep him from telling anyone. _What if_. 

“Hello?” A hand waves in front of his face. “You spacing out on me over there?”

Bucky blinks and looks at Steve. His plate only has a few bites of food left on it and he’s chuckling at Bucky as he waves that hand back and forth. Clearing the haze and fog away for him. It takes another second for Bucky to realize that Steve’s actually asked him a question. 

“What?”

Steve laughs. “You need some coffee, Buck?”

“Oh.” He snickers. “No. Sorry. What’d you say before that?”

“I asked if your folks were excited when you told ‘em.”

“About Tasha and me?” Steve nods. “Sure.” Bucky ignores the guilt. Just a few more months of lying about this and it’ll all be over. “My _sisters_ were real excited. Becky acts like we’re married already and has a super cool sister-in-law or something. Nicole and Lauren love doing her hair.”

“Oh shit,” Steve gasps. “They must be so big now! How old are they?”

“They’re ten,” Bucky answers, and then laughs when Steve’s eyes get big like he’s shocked the twins could possibly be that old already. “And… Sophia loves her cause Tasha plays superheroes with her.”

Steve’s just put some more food in his mouth, but as soon as Bucky says Sophia’s name he stops chewing and glances up at him. Confusion all over his face as the wheels in his mind tries to figure out what Bucky’s talking about. Because Sophia wasn’t born when he and Steve knew each other. Which, of course, is why Bucky said it all nonchalantly. Steve’s not the only one who can be a little smart ass.

“Who… who’s Sophia?” Steve finally asks when he obviously can’t place the name. 

Bucky smirks. “My sister.”

“You…” He eyes him suspiciously. “You don’t have a sister named Sophia.”

“No?” Bucky chuckles. “Won’t she be disappointed to find out she’s not real.”

Steve laughs as he pushes his now empty plate to the side. He wasn’t fooling around when he ordered such a big meal. Guy ate every last bite. 

“Your parents had another kid?” He’s smiling. Smiling like another sibling in Bucky’s life is wonderful news. “Dude, that’s awesome!”

“Yup. She’s five.”

“So that’s you and _four_ little sisters, huh?” Steve sucks in a deep breath through stretched lips. “What’s that like?”

“Chaos,” Bucky says. “Utter chaos.”

Steve laughs and asks for the check. Pulls a bunch of crumpled up bills from out of the pocket of his sweatshirt along with a handful of coins that he picks through. While he does that, Bucky takes out his wallet so he can pay for his share.

“What’re you doing?” Steve asks as he flattens out the bills and starts adding the change to it. 

He doesn’t even glance up from what he’s doing yet somehow seems to know that Bucky’s fishing through his wallet. 

“I’m… how much do I owe?”

“Nothing,” he tells him. “I’m takin’ you out, remember?”

Bucky watches as Steve shifts in his seat to reach into his back pocket to pull out another loose bill. He looks at the money like he’s both happy and relieved to see it. 

“Are you sure, Steve? I can…”

“No. I told you, it’s my treat.” Steve slides out of the booth with all the money he’s gathered together excluding the bit he’s left on the table for a tip. “You comin’?” he asks. “Or you gonna cut _another_ class.”

Giving a snort, and a showy roll of his eyes, Bucky grabs his jacket and follows Steve to the front. He stands a bit off to the side while Steve pays and wonders if he should offer again to give him what he owes. He doesn’t feel right having Steve pay for the full bill. Especially when it looked like he was lucky to have enough to pay for the whole thing in the first place. It’s not like Bucky’s rolling in dough or anything, but his parents worked out a deal with him two years ago when Bucky wanted to go out and get a part-time job for himself. Maintain good grades and stay out of trouble and help out around the house and _they’d_ pay him. They said they didn’t want a job cutting into his study time. Bucky was smart enough to take them up on that offer, and between that and working a shift with Clint at the pizzeria he works at every now and then, Bucky’s learned how to maintain a pretty decent budget. 

So Bucky _does_ have enough cash on him to pay for his share. But as Steve makes polite conversation with their waitress as she rings their bill up and hands her all the money, Bucky realizes that he’ll never accept it. Steve is too stubborn for that. Like he said, he wanted to take Bucky out so that’s what he’s gonna do and nothing Bucky says or does will get him to change his mind. 

“Ready?” Steve asks once he’s finished paying. 

Ready? That’s quite a loaded question. One Bucky didn’t even realize would be a loaded question until he’s faced answering it. Sure, he’s all set to head back to school. But what happens between them once they’re there? Bucky’s not even sure if they qualify as a _them_. This was fun though. Despite the few hiccups, Bucky finds himself cheery and happy inside. After spending the morning with Steve Rogers. 

“Dude, seriously?” Steve is standing right in front of him. Hands stuffed in his front pockets until he needs to pull one out to keep his glasses from falling further down his nose. Amused grin on his face. “Are you _sure_ you don’t want a cuppa coffee before we leave?”

Bucky rattles his head and forces his own chuckle. Tells Steve no, he doesn’t need any coffee and then they leave the diner. And maybe so much more. 

The walk back to school is quiet again. Next to Bucky, Steve huddles for warmth inside his hoodie. Bucky would make a teasing comment about him not wearing a heavier jacket in this weather, but he keeps it to himself. A strange and wild notion does come over him, though, and Bucky’s arm actually lifts to wrap around Steve. Just to give him a body to lean up against to shield him from the cold. The idea is crazy. And Bucky leaves his arm right where it is. Pinned against his side.

“Hey, Buck?” Steve says when they get back to school. Standing right outside the front doors before first period ends. 

Bucky’s hand is on the door handle. He didn’t even realize that Steve had stopped until he said anything. He takes his hand off the door and turns around. 

“Yeah?”

Steve is looking at him and for the first time in forever, he looks nervous about whatever it is he wants to say. There’s a slight pull at his lips and he kinda shifts his weight a bit. 

“You… you really never told anyone about that time in your room with the peanut butter,” he says softly. “Did you?”

Well, that wasn’t what Bucky expected him to bring up. Honestly, he didn’t even think Steve fully remembered what went on between them over the weekend. Sure, he was aware that he had acted like a dick, but Bucky didn’t think he knew exactly why. 

“No, Steve, I didn’t,” Bucky answers. “I promised I wouldn’t.”

Rubbing at the back of his neck, Steve looks at him like he’s a little confused about something. 

“Did you… did you really stay up all night that night?”

Oh, wow. Steve must remember a lot more about the other night than Bucky realized. Bucky just looks at him for a moment before nodding. 

“Yeah, I did.”

“But… _why_?” 

To that, Bucky just folds his arms over his chest. If Steve really needs him to spell it out for him, he’s gonna be out of luck. Turns out he doesn’t need any explanation. Steve glances down at his toes and twists his lips. 

“You didn’t have’ta do that,” he mumbles quietly. 

“Wasn’t a matter of _having_ to, Steve,” Bucky says. Serious. It was a long time ago but that night really scared the hell out of him. Steve laughed about it the other day. “I was scared.”

Steve’s eyes sweep back up to find Bucky’s. He squeezes his lips together and nods as though accepting what he did the other night wasn’t okay. Not for Bucky at least.

“I’m, uh…” He bobs his head back and forth a bit. “That was between us. I shouldn’t have told Star-Lord that. So, I’m, y’know, I’m, um…” 

“You’re sorry?” Bucky finishes for him.

Apologizing has never been one of Steve’s strong points because he doesn’t like being wrong. Admitting that he _is_ wrong, though, he’ll do it. He might be a stubborn ass, but he wouldn’t ever let his pride stand in his way of doing the right thing. So when Bucky says it for him, Steve’s mouth quirks up and he rolls his eyes. 

“Yeah. That. I’m sorry.” He chuckles and then everything comes out a lot easier. “That was fucked up of me to do. I wasn’t thinking. So, yeah. I’m real sorry.”

“It’s all right. You were--”

“Doesn’t matter,” Steve interrupts. Seems he won’t fall back on his state of mind as an excuse for that. “I was wrong.”

A smile sneaks up on Bucky’s mouth. Steve really is sorry about this. About upsetting Bucky. Like his opinion of Steve matters. At least about this. 

“Thanks, Steve,” he murmurs. “That, uh, that means a lot to me.”

Steve shrugs like it’s no big deal and reaches past Bucky to open the door. He steps aside to let Bucky go first and when the door closes behind him he says, “So, I guess I’ll see you later.”

“This afternoon,” Bucky agrees but also feels a need to remind Steve. Worried that if he doesn’t, he won’t show up. “At the library.”

“After ninth. Yeah, yeah, I got it, Officer.” Steve twirls around and shoots a lazy salute in Bucky’s direction as he backs away. “See ya then, Barnes.” 

He’s turning back around to walk forward before Bucky can even reply. From out of the crowd, Peter Quill appears and immediately heads towards Steve with his arms out in confusion.

“The hell’ve you been?” he roars over both the people in the hall and probably the music still pumping through his headphones. 

Steve meets him with a double high five and says, loud enough so that Quill can hear him over his music, “Moral obligations I hadda take care of.”

Moral _obligations_. Is that what that whole thing was? Just some obligation Steve felt he needed to take care of? Not that it should matter. But it does. And for some reason, it hurts. 

The second they’re both facing the same direction and heading away from Bucky, Quill tosses his arm around Steve the way Bucky wanted to earlier. After seeing them all cozy over the weekend and now this, Bucky wonders for a moment if they’re dating. No one’s said anything, though, and after the whole outing of Steve’s bisexuality, Bucky’s pretty sure it’d be a big thing if they were. Not that _that_ should matter either. But for some strange reason, that does, too. 

As Bucky watches Steve and Quill get quickly gobbled up by the crowds in the hallway, he becomes absolutely sure of two things. 

One. This is a mistake. Going to breakfast with Steve, letting Steve make him laugh, having Steve remind him just how much he missed him. It’s a mistake. This is a huge, terrible mistake that’s going to have a price Bucky can’t even imagine. 

Two. It’s too late. 

This is a mistake that Bucky’s going to make. 


	7. Art is a Wonderful Subject

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky and Steve support each other's interests

The gym is hot and stuffy. Filled with the scent of sweat and heavy breaths that hang in the under ventilated room, and the high pitched squeaks of sneakers as everyone runs across the floor. On one side of the gym, the girls’ volleyball team is practicing. Sharon Carter’s handing out instructions as a pretty tough captain even though she’s a junior on the varsity team. In front of the bleachers, the cheerleaders are working on a new routine. In the corner, the wrestling team is having a meeting before they head into a separate room to practice. The basketball team occupies most of the room as they run drills. 

As the captain of the team -- a position Coach Summers doesn’t hand out lightly -- Bucky isn’t just the person who meets with officials at center court before a game and shake hands with the other team’s captain. He’s expected to be a leader. And not as in a _do as I say, not as I do_ sorta way. Bucky’s supposed to lead by example. Appropriate behavior both on and off the court. It pleases Bucky to no end when Coach tells everyone to _do what Barnes does_. Just another reason he really shouldn’t be cutting classes or letting his grades slip. Bucky’s worked his ass off over the years to better his skills and prove he’s a team leader. Helping Pietro with his free throw and Rumlow with his stamina because regardless of personal feelings, Rumlow’s a teammate and Bucky’s loyal to his team. Losing the captaincy over something like cutting class to go have breakfast with Steve Rogers is not how he wants this season to end. 

So, yeah, Bucky’s supposed to be the captain of the team which is why he should be focused more on making sure Clint and Rumlow aren’t about to exchange blows instead of off in his own head thinking about these past few weeks with Steve. Luckily, the shouts and yells snap Bucky out of it just in time. Clint and Rumlow are moving towards another. Any closer and Couch Summers would be stepping in to do Bucky’s job for him.

“Whoa, whoa!” Bucky quickly gets between his friend and his teammate. Faces Clint and holds an arm out to thwart Rumlow from coming any closer. “Stop it!” He’s not sure why they’re fighting this time but they’ve been at each other’s throats since that afternoon in the weight room the other week. “Cut it the hell out! We’re here for practice, not your bullshit!”

“Bullshit?” Clint growls. He then throws an accusatory finger over Bucky’s shoulder. “He’s the one full of shit!”

“Eat me, Barton,” Rumlow retorts. Follows Bucky silent command and doesn’t move further. “You can suck my dick.”

“Yeah, no _thanks_ , I’ve had tic tacs before. Not really a fan.”

That makes Rumlow move for him so Clint moves again. Bucky plants his hands on Clint’s chest and pushes against him. Not shoving him, but holding him back as best he can. Once again, his presence gets Rumlow to stop. Not that he has any real respect for Bucky, but he _does_ have respect for the basketball program. Not following Bucky’s lead looks bad on him. In fact, right now, no matter what caused this, Clint is the one who _looks_ in the wrong. Bucky needs to stop this before it gets any worse. 

“Clint! Enough!” he shouts at him. “Go walk it off!”

Clint glares down at him. Face beet red and breaths backed up on him. He looks like he could reach out and strangle Bucky for interfering. Probably sorta wants to right now. Clenching his jaw, Clint sucks in a rough breath through flared nostrils and tears away from Bucky. Marches towards the bleachers and snatches up a water bottle. Clint throws himself down and tosses a towel over his head. No one’s gonna bother him while he’s in this sorta mood. Once he cools down, he’ll be easier to talk to. Might even apologize for putting Bucky in the situation in the first place if not for the situation itself. 

“Control your boy,” Rumlow mumbles as he turns to join the team again.

“Hey, ease off, Rumlow,” Bucky barks back. “He wasn’t the only there.”

Rumlow flips his hand over his shoulder. Both acknowledging but also brushing Bucky off. Bucky sighs and rubs the spot between his eyes. He feels a headache coming on. 

“Hey,” Coach Summers says from right behind Bucky. Bucky didn’t even realize he was right there until he speaks. “Can I have a word, Captain?”

Ever since Steve brought up their old nicknames -- Captain and Sarge -- that first session, Bucky’s been feeling oddly off balanced whenever anyone on the team calls him Captain. Even if it’s been years since then, Steve was always Captain. People sometimes questioned that. _But he’s so much smaller than you_ or _But you’re the older one!_ Didn’t matter. To Bucky, Steve was Captain and he was Sarge. Bucky would’ve followed him anywhere. 

Regardless of old nicknames, Bucky is still the captain of the basketball team and his coach has just asked to speak with him. 

“Oh. Yeah, uh, okay.”

Bucky follows him to the sidelines, away from prying ears. Coach has a clipboard in his hands and whatever’s on it, keeps his attention for just a moment longer before he finally looks at Bucky.

“So, Captain, tell me. What was that fight you just broke up all about?”

The easiest answer to that would be that Rumlow’s a giant douchebag and Clint’s got a temper and is sick of dealing with Rumlow’s douchebaggery. That’s not what Coach Summers is looking for though. He wants specifics. Specifics he probably already knows that Bucky doesn’t have. 

“I, um…”

“Exactly,” Coach says. “Where’s your head at? Cause it’s not here. Hasn’t been all week.”

Sighing, Bucky rubs at his forehead and then stretches his neck. Because Coach is right. He’s not here in the gym with his team practicing and doing his job. He’s at a diner. Or in the library. With Steve. Who Bucky’s spent only a few hours with during these weeks and yet has Bucky so damn distracted all the time. He doesn’t understand it. Can’t figure out why the hell he just keeps thinking about Steve. It’s ridiculous. 

“Sorry, Coach,” Bucky mumbles. “I’ve just… I got a lot on my mind, I guess.”

Coach nods like he understands that. 

“That’s reasonable,” he comments. “You need to prioritize what’s best for you. Is being captain adding too much pressure? You can step down and--”

“No! No, no, I’m… I’ll be fine. I just… I guess I just need to clear my head a bit.”

Eyeing him like he’s wondering whether or not he should push this further, Coach Summers nods again after taking in a deep breath. 

“We have a chance at the championship this year. I’m not pulling you, but, Bucky, if things get too hard on you, I’m not gonna have any choice. I need you to be the leader of the team, but _you_ need to be the leader of your life.”

Wow, could he sound any more like an after school special? Bucky almost laughs. Still, he gets and appreciates the sentiment. They both want what’s best for the team and if that turns out _not_ to be Bucky, Coach Summers will replace him. Bucky doesn’t want that. He can do this. He knows he can. 

“Thanks, Coach. I’m good. I just got some stuff to sort out, that’s all.”

“All right,” he relents. Adds a tap to Bucky’s head with his clipboard. “Get out of here for now. Take some laps.” Laps means running the four halls that circle completely on the second floor. “Try to clear your head.”

Bucky smiles and agrees. Running laps is usually a consequence of some sort -- Bucky’s even allowed to hand laps out if he deems necessary -- but that’s not what’s happening right now and he knows it. Coach is giving him a breather. A place where he doesn’t need to _be_ captain of the team but still is. 

Before leaving the gym, Bucky sits down on the bleachers a few feet from where Clint is so that he can re-tie his laces. In the middle of doing that, he feels someone come up close beside him. Still bending forward as he ties his laces, Bucky glances up to see Clint there. He’s looking straight ahead, watching the rest of the team practice, but he’s slid over so close to Bucky their legs brush together.

Without saying a word, Bucky finishes what he’s doing and sits back up again. As soon as he’s upright, Clint nudges him with his shoulder. A grin touches Bucky’s mouth and he does it right back. Clint does it a second time, this time pushing hard enough that it almost knocks Bucky over. 

“You dick,” Bucky mutters with a giggle. 

Eyes still focused on the team, Clint just smiles. He’s still pissed off, but all the knee-jerk anger at Bucky is gone now. That doesn’t mean he’s ready to talk just yet cause he’s still cheesed off so when Bucky stands to leave, he jabs Clint’s shoulder and heads out of the gym. 

Coach may have sent Bucky off to run laps for the rest of practice to clear his head, but, unfortunately, that’s not what fucking happens because as soon as he’s climbing the stairs to the second floor, Bucky starts thinking back on the week again. 

After breakfast that Monday, the rest of the day was pretty bland and normal in comparison. Nothing out of the ordinary happened. In fact, it was duller than usual. Which might’ve had something to do with it being Monday and most of his friends are seniors. During lunch, Natasha damn near napped on his shoulder. Said he was her pillow and he would just have to deal with it. Bucky just smiled and slouched down so she could get more comfortable on him. And that was probably the most eventful thing that happened all day. Until Bucky had to go to the library after school again to meet with Steve.

Just like the previous week, Steve was already there when Bucky came in. This time, he wasn’t napping with his head down on the table. In fact, he was concentrating real hard on something and as Bucky approached, he realized he was drawing. Remembering Steve’s own rule about not showing anyone his work until it’s done, Bucky had paused right before the table and stretched his neck up as he attempted to get a peek at what Steve was working on. Of course, he was caught within seconds -- not that Bucky was really trying to be all that sneaky about it -- and Steve quickly slammed the notebook closed. 

When they caught eyes, Bucky smirked at him with a flick of his eyebrows. He couldn’t help it. That’s what he used to do and it was just a reaction. Steve didn’t get mad, though, like Bucky worried he might have a second after he did it.

“Jerk,” Steve muttered as Bucky took a seat across from him. Smiled at him anyway and pulled the notebook onto his lap. 

“Can you blame me, punk?” Bucky replied. “You got to talk about Grey McQueen. Fair is fair.”

“ _What_?” Steve exclaimed. “I brought _up_ Grey McQueen! I didn’t try to read anything! It’s not even _close_ to the same thing!”

Bucky folded his lips as he tried to keep from laughing. Getting Steve playfully riled up had always fun and it still was. His voice squeaked and his eyes got all big and when he caught onto what Bucky had done, he slammed his arms against his chest. His lips were pursed as he, too, attempted not to laugh. Steve was muttering to himself and looking away, but the second he peered back over at Bucky they both started laughing together. 

That was all it took. One semi-good session and one breakfast, and Bucky found himself laughing with Steve like not a day had gone by between the last time they’d done it. That half hour went by pretty fast. 

Things were somewhat comfortable from that point forward. There were some awkward silences -- though, if it was awkward for Steve he refused to show it -- and uncomfortable clearing of throats. Or throat, since that was pretty much only Bucky, too. Steve, Bucky figured, decided to just pretend that everything was cool between them.

Bucky couldn’t help wondering how this happened. How he went from being the cool and confident one to the unsure and shy one. Only around Steve. Bucky could walk down the hall and say hello to just about anyone. He could give high-fives and fistbumps and even fingerguns without feeling even the slightest bit of nerves, but sitting there with Steve Rogers made his heart pound, his palms sweat, and had him choking on his own words. 

The conversations they did have, though, were fun and easy. They didn’t talk about anything of particular importance. Steve asked about a movie. Bucky’d seen it. They both thought it was ridiculous even though everyone _else_ loved it. 

“Don’t tell anyone who likes it that you don’t though,” Steve had laughed. “They’ll just tell you--”

“You don’t understand it,” Bucky finished. 

“Exactly!”

They got hushed by the librarian because of that. 

Bucky asked about Steve’s weekend since he’d only seen Steve that one night. Steve’d been in the middle of opening a bag of Doritos even though any food was prohibited in the library. He offered one to Bucky. Bucky declined. 

“Couldn’t go out after Friday,” he said, stuffing a chip in his mouth. Steve licked the orange stuff off his fingers right away.

“Oh. Did you have stuff to do?”

“What?”

“The rest of the weekend? Did you have stuff to do?”

“No, I just _said_ \--” He cut himself there, cutting off whatever it was he planned on saying next. Steve blinked and shook his head. “What’s with the inquisition, Barnes?” 

The glands in Bucky’s throat swelled. He certainly didn’t want to have to tiptoe around Steve, but there were brand new walls up around him. Walls that Bucky hadn’t been allowed to see over yet. He tugged at the collar of his tee shirt. The collar that wasn’t choking him at all. Bucky had no way of knowing if he’d ever be allowed even a peek over those walls again. All he did know was that a simple few interactions with Steve had him wanting at least one peek. 

Still, Bucky just sat there waiting for Steve to start talking again even though, technically, he was meant to be the leader of the meetings. 

“What about this weekend, Bucky?” Steve asked just a minute later. Eyes lifting to meet Bucky’s. “Do you have plans this weekend?”

The tone of his voice had softened significantly and Bucky was starting to sense the difference between the use of _Barnes_ versus _Bucky_. Whenever Steve used Bucky’s last name, his fuse had struck and his temper flared. Any other time, he simply called him Bucky. 

Bucky knew, if he wanted to try to get a glimpse over those walls, that he’d have to at least peel some of those layers back. But Steve wasn’t anything like an onion. He was more like a rare, delicate flower. One wrong tug and all the petals would spiral to the ground. 

“Um. I, uh.” Bucky cleared his throat. “I have plans with you on Friday afternoon.” 

For a few seconds, Steve just stared at him before snorting with a roll of his eyes when he put two and two together. He chuckled.

“You mean…”

“Yeah.”

Another peer mediation session.

“And, um, I have a game on Saturday.”

Steve’s eyebrows lifted. “Oh, yeah. For the playoffs, right?”

That really did take Bucky by surprise. Steve didn’t exactly throw himself into extracurricular activities, sports included. 

“You knew that?”

“Why do you look so surprised?”

This might’ve been a fragile subject. One wrong answer could lead to another fuse going off in Bucky’s face. Still, it also wasn’t fair that Bucky was the only one walking on eggshells so he decided to just go for it. 

“You haven’t exactly struck me as someone who cares about things like that,” he said. “I mean, y’know, well, ever, really, but since you’ve been here especially.”

Steve’s mouth quirked into something of a crooked smile. He even snickered a little before stretching out across the library table and yawning.

“Touché,” he replied. “Let’s just say I’ve got this peer mediator. He’s not so bad.” 

The somersault _that_ made his tummy do was unlike anything Bucky’d ever felt before. He felt like he had something stuck in his throat. At the same time, he felt like he’d just swallowed something down the wrong pipe and coughed it back up. Steve just snickered as though he enjoyed their silly back-and-forth. 

So Bucky just said, “Speaking of which, we need to get back on topic.”

Which made Steve scoff and drop his head back down, saluting and once again calling Bucky _officer_. Which Bucky supposed was endearing and much better than going back to calling him _Barnes_.

Since they were still in a peer mediation session, Bucky had to ask him how his days went and if he utilized any of the tools they worked on together during their other sessions.

“I didn’t get into any fights,” Steve grumbled. “Isn’t that what counts?”

“Did you yell at anyone?” Bucky asked, and had to hold in a laugh when Steve’s cheeks flushed. “What happened?”

“Dude, Victor’s a dirtbag!” he insisted. He’s not wrong. Victor is a dirtbag. “And he was trying to look under Kamala’s skirt!”

Turns out, Steve had ripped Victor a new one for that. Then Kamala got sent down to Mr. Pierce’s office for being in violation of the dress code. Typical. Steve managed to stay off the radar, though. Which is good for him so Bucky didn’t write down anything about the argument. Steve again halfheartedly agreed to try Bucky’s suggestions if any problems did arise later in the week. So far, from what Bucky knows, nothing’s happened. 

They went over the main sources of conflicts and conflict resolutions this past Monday, something they’re meant to review again on Friday. Steve’ll need to know that if he’s going to be allowed out of the program. 

Bucky’s supposed to see Steve after school again tomorrow and he can’t help but wonder what it’ll be like this time. Their relationship, if Bucky could even call it that, has been blossoming in the near month that they’ve been doing this. Easier greetings. Some witty banter. No more snapping.

The strangest part is how much Bucky likes this. This dangerous path he’s started on by being friendlier with Steve. Will it continue getting better? Can they reach a place where they can joke around again? Is it possible to ever become as close as they once were? Or will Steve clam up again and go back to pretending that Bucky’s enemy number one. Bucky hopes not. He hates that he hopes not, but he can’t help it. 

While the idea of becoming friends with Steve again is exhilarating and thrilling, it’s also terrifying. If Bucky lets Steve in again and the same thing happens, well. Bucky’s not so sure he can handle it twice. His heart already aches at the thought. 

Just about to round the corner of the second hallway, Bucky skids to a half mid-jog. There are some clubs and afterschool programs taking place up here, but Bucky stops when something inside one of the art rooms catches his attention. 

Steve is in there, standing in front of an easel and working on a project. Different color paints spatter across his hands. There’s even a smear across his cheek. He’s got on an oversized white t-shirt -- giving Bucky a full view to that sleeve of tattoos on Steve’s right arm -- and old jeans that are also covered in paint. Glasses on today, Steve even has some paint on his nose, probably from pushing them back up. From where he’s standing, Bucky can’t see clearly what Steve’s working on, but he’s completely immersed in it. 

Music plays from somewhere -- if Bucky had to guess, it’s probably coming from Steve’s phone -- and Steve is singing along to an old _My Chemical Romance_ song. The energy in the room is so strong, so charged that Bucky would think dozens of people were in there all talking at once when it’s just Steve singing softly to himself while painting. Hairs on the back of Bucky’s neck rise. His pulse quickens. The air becomes too hot. All from watching Steve painting in there. Completely in control of a world that he’s created. 

Floor unsteady beneath his feet, the room begins to fade away to nothing but Steve covered in paint and singing absently as his long fingers make smooth brush strokes to make something beautiful appear out of the ever-winding labyrinth of his imagination. 

“Hey! Barnes!”

Bucky slams in the doorframe of the classroom he’s been lingering at. Hard. Behind him, Pietro is coming. In the room, Steve’s stopped painting, the world slowly easing back to what it’d been before Bucky ever stumbled upon such a wondrous sight, and glances at the door. Where Bucky’s now shoved into the frame of and sputtering out nonsensical words. 

“What?!” he finally manages to exclaim, gaze darting between both Steve and Pietro. “Nothing. I didn’t… it was nothing.”

Inside the room, Steve catches eyes with him for a split second before smirking and moseying over to a table with bottles of paints. Maybe to get more. Or to put some away. Bucky can’t tell since he quickly turns around just in time for Pietro to reach him. 

“What’re you doing?” Pietro asks. 

“No.” Bucky shakes his head, realizing that’s not even close to an appropriate answer to the question at hand. “I mean. Um. Nothing. Laps. Coach sent me up here to run laps.”

“Yeah, like, almost twenty minutes ago,” Pietro says. “Practice is almost over. He sent me up here to find you.” 

Twenty minutes? Bucky’s been standing there watching Steve paint for _twenty_ minutes? Impossible. It had to be. No way had he just stood there like a total stalker for that long. But according to the clock in the hallway, it is nearly four thirty. Yeah, he really had been creepy for almost twenty full minutes. 

“Shit,” Bucky mutters. “I… I guess I…” What? Was totally hypnotized by watching someone paint? What the hell is happening to him? “I lost track of time.” 

“Well, let’s go.” Pietro gives a tug to the sleeve of Bucky’s shirt. “Before they send a search party after us.” 

Right before allowing himself to be dragged away, Bucky takes one last peek into the room. Where Steve is still at that table -- putting paints away. His eyes flick up just in time to meet Bucky’s for a heartbeat. In that heartbeat, his lips curl up in a crooked smirk. 

As he starts down the hall with Pietro, Bucky attempts to shake the images of Steve out of his brain. He needs to focus. Steve is _so_ not good for that. 

“Hey, Barnes,” Pietro murmurs as they walk. “Know what?”

Bucky shakes his head. “No. What?”

Instead of answering, Pietro breaks off into a sprint and bursts out laughing when Bucky shouts after him and tries to catch up. Impossible. Pietro is the fastest kid in school. Bucky won’t be surprised if he wins an Olympic medal in track one day. 

“What’s the matter?” Pietro calls over his shoulder. “You didn’t see that coming?”

“Damn you, Maximoff!” 

They’re a barrel of laughter as they dart back into the gym. Once Bucky officially catches up to him -- to be fair, he totally _should_ have seen that coming -- he gives him a shove. They don’t have any time for horsing around, though. Coach Summers isn’t what Bucky’d call pleased with him being gone for so long. Taking some laps is not code for disappearing for the remainder of practice. 

“Have a nice vacation?” he asks when Bucky approaches. 

Bucky’s eyes drop to his feet. “Sorry. It won’t happen again.” 

That clipboard he’d been holding earlier, bops Bucky on the top of his head. Light and playful. When Bucky looks back up, Coach Summers gives him one of those grown-up sorts of grins. That kind of grin that makes Bucky think the expression _kids…_ has just run through his mind. 

“Go on, hit the showers,” he tells him. “Get outta here. We got a game this weekend, remember. I need you here in body _and_ mind.” 

Bucky gives him a two fingered salute as he heads for the locker room. “You got it, Coach.” 

Bucky actually hates the locker room. Too many assholes who think it’s okay to say nasty shit like it’s their right as guys. “No homo-ing” each other when they wave their dicks around or crack a towel over someone’s ass. What makes matters worse is that they always think everyone there agrees with them. 

So it shouldn’t be all that surprising to hear uproarious laughter and shouting when by the time Bucky gets there. Georges is currently bragging about _some bitch that’s got a mouth like a Hoover_ while his buddies sit around giving him congratulations and fistbumps. For something that’s probably made up anyway. 

Ignoring them, Bucky heads straight to the back for the showers and is relieved to find that Clint is still there. Bucky peels off his sweaty, gross clothes and goes to shower.

“Hey,” Bucky greets as he steps under the spray. “We friends again?” 

Clint rolls his eyes and runs fingers through his soaked hair to rinse more shampoo out of it. 

“Like I could ever break-up with you,” he says. “Sorry, by the way. I shouldn’t’ve gotten mad at you. It’s not your fault.”

“Nah.” Bucky shrugs. Rubs soap over his body while focused on the wall instead of peeking over at Clint. He’s acutely aware of all the layers of lean muscles that ripple across his body. “I shouldn’t have let it escalate like that. What happened, anyway?” 

First shutting off the water of the faucet he’s using, Clint huffs and shakes his head. He grabs a towel and pats his face dry, rubs it quickly over his head, and then ends up with it tied around his waist. It’s a little safer for Bucky to look at him again. 

“Same shit as usual,” Clint says. “He was being an asshole. Suggested that Sharon was a, well, the ‘d’ word because of how she dresses and cuts her hair.”

Short and shaved underneath. Baggy t-shirts with jeans and sneakers. Bucky’s not sure he’s ever seen her not wearing sneakers. Which obviously can only mean one thing. Still under the hot water, a chill washes over him. Somebody needs to make this stop happening. But the person who’s supposed to, made it very clear that _boys will be boys_. 

“What’s going on lately?” Bucky asks. “Rumlow never got under your skin this much.”

“Are you defending him?”

“ _No_.” The outrage at such a question rings out loud and clear in his voice. Two stones crashing together to create a spark that might cause a fire. “Fuck no. I’d never. He’s a piece of shit. I’m just sayin’ you used to ignore him like the rest of us.” 

“Yeah, well.” He’s getting dressed now and Bucky’s just about finished washing. “Let’s just say I’m getting sick of keep my mouth shut when shit needs to be said. I think Steve Rogers is rubbing off on me.” 

Having just turned the water off, goosebumps rise all over Bucky’s arms. He hadn’t expected anyone to bring Steve up, especially in such a manner. 

“Wh-what do you mean?” Bucky whispers. “What do you mean by that, Clint?”

“Nothing, just…” The nerves must be clear on Bucky’s face. Lip tucked under his tongue. Eyes downcast. Weight shifting from side to side. “Y’know, he never has a problem throwing himself in the chaos when things are pointed south. Never did, even when we knew him when we were little. I guess I kinda envy the kid in that way.” 

“Envy him?”

“Sure. Even when he doesn’t have a shot in hell, he still doesn’t back down. You gotta admire that, even if it’s just a little.” 

At his gym locker, Bucky robotically pulls out his clean clothes to get dressed again while Clint sits on the bench with one leg on either side. 

“So, you don’t…” Bucky clears his throat. “You don’t think he _starts_ fights?”

Clint chuckles. “I _did_. It kinda looked like that all the time. But, I don’t know, I think it was a few weeks ago or something and Billy Kaplan was at the main office _insisting_ to Mr. Coulson that Steve didn’t do anything wrong. Mr. C told him he’d handle the situation but Billy looked real upset. I asked him what happen.” Clint chuckles again, but this time there’s no humor to the noise at all. “Turns out that Hodge had been making fun of him because he had the nerve to cry during _Schindler's List_. How dare a manly man man show his man tears.” Bucky can’t help cracking a small grin. “Billy said that Steve just told Hodge to shut up. That was it. Then _Hodge_ started that actual fight. Sorry, but if you ask me, trying to kick someone’s ass just because they told you to shut up is really disproportionate. So I started looking back on all the other times I remembered Steve getting into fights and every one I thought of involved him defending someone. Not even _himself_ , dude. Just everyone else.”

“So, you figure if Steve can do it, you can do it.” 

Bucky gets an amused smile for that comment. Clint nods and reaches into his own locker to pull out his jacket. 

“Something like that. These guys really fucking suck sometimes. And I’m just really fucking sick of it.” 

Unable to hold his gaze, Bucky turns back to his locker again. He wants to be brave like Clint. Stand up for people when they need it. Hell, stand up for himself in the process. He honestly can’t believe this, but Bucky wishes he could be more like Steve. 

“Clint?”

Bucky’s voice is so soft he’s not even sure if the words have actually rolled off his lips. 

“Yeah?”

Well, at least he knows Clint heard him. 

“You’re a really amazing guy,” Bucky says. “Like, _really_ amazing. Don’t ever sell yourself short, okay?” 

Clint, still straddling the bench, rises to his feet and wraps his hand around Bucky’s wrist to pull him into his arms. He hugs him. Tight. Warm. Affectionate. Right there in the locker room.

“Thanks, Buck,” Clint murmurs. “I love you. You know that, right?”

Still in Clint’s embrace, Bucky nods. “I know it.” 

“And if there’s ever anything you want to… I don’t know, get something off your chest.” He pulls away then, but just enough so that he can look into Bucky’s eyes. “You can tell me. I’m all ears.” Clint points to his hearing aids. “Extra ears and everything.” 

That actually makes Bucky laugh. Even if Clint is both talking to him and looking at him like someone who’s guarding a secret. For one fleeting moment, Bucky considers coming out to Clint. Right here. Right now. But when he remembers that he technically hasn’t come out to anyone -- not even Tasha since she figured on her own when Bucky asked for her help -- the words just disappear. Tiny bubbles that pop to nothing when reaching hot concrete. 

“Yeah.” Bucky’s throat is too tight. “I know. And I love you, too, Clint.” He slings his backpack over his shoulder. He even starts to make for the exit. “You wanna hit Starbucks on the way--”

“I’m asexual.” 

Eyes wide, Bucky spins back around just in time to see Clint drop back onto the bench. He looks shocked himself. 

“You--”

“Oh my god,” Clint mumbles to himself. “I can’t believe I said it. I finally said it to someone.” He glances back at Bucky again, a soft but nervous smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Say something. Please?” 

Whatever he says now is so super important. Clint’s just come out as ace to him. _Him_. Clint chose him for the honor of saying it to first. Bucky needs to pick and choose his words carefully. 

“You wanna go to Starbucks?” 

That nervous smile settles into a more relaxed one. Clint’s eyes sparkle. He nods. Bucky offers his hand to help him back up off the bench again. 

“That’s why I haven’t made a move on Laura,” Clint explains as they walk to Starbucks. “I’m too afraid she won’t get it. I’m not sex repulsed. I’ll do stuff. But I just… I’ve never looked at someone and thought _yeah, I gotta hit that_.”

“I don’t think you’d ever think that anyway,” Bucky says. “And even if she doesn’t, you deserve someone who loves you for all of you. This is a part of you. And you’re worth it.” 

Clint chuckles and nudges his shoulder as they head into the nearest Starbucks together. They order drinks and Clint gets a muffin with his and they take a table near the back. It’s a lot less crowded than he’d expect it to be. 

“So, when did you, like-- oh, wait.” Bucky pauses and tries again. “Can I ask you questions? Are you okay with that? Cause if not, it’s fine.” 

Clint smiles at him again. “Yeah, shoot. Fire away.” 

“When did you… _know_?”

Blowing a puff of air between his lips, Clint takes a sip of his coffee and seems to think on that. Maybe trying to calculate even. 

“I guess, really, for _real_ , last year. Or, I mean, I admitted it to myself last year.”

“What… what made you realize?”

“I dunno, really. Little things. While other dudes talk about how hot a chick is, or, y’know a guy, and the things they wanted to do to them, my idea of a better night was just to _be_ with each other. Snuggled up on the couch and cozy under a blanket.” Clint blushes and rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry. That sounds stupid, I know, I’m sorry. Again.” 

“No.” Bucky reaches across the table and places his hand over Clint’s. “It’s not stupid. Nothing stupid about it. It’s who you are. And I, for one, think who you are is awesome. So does Tasha.”

“Don’t… don’t tell her, okay?” The hand under Bucky’s stiffens. “Not that, not that I don’t trust her or anything like that, I just wanna be the one to come out to her.” 

“I wouldn’t say anything,” Bucky assures him. “I never would have. Thanks for trusting me.” 

Bucky catches another blush just before Clint peers up at him through his lashes. “You’re my best friend, Buck. So is Tasha. You’re the only two people in the world I want to come out to right now.” 

“Yeah.” Bucky nods and grins. “I think we’ve got a pretty good team.” 

“No one’s better than us,” Clint says. “Shit. This feels so good talking about this. I really thought I was gonna explode if I didn’t tell someone soon.”

There are things Bucky’s still too afraid of. As badly as he’d like to come out right here, right now to Clint after he’s been so brave in coming out to Bucky, he just can’t seem to get the words to come out right. Even when Clint turns their hands so that their fingers lace. Fuck anyone who has a problem with it. If Bucky can hold hands with one of his best friends, then he can hold hands with both of his best friends. 

But one thing is certain. Bucky won’t allow anyone to trash talk Clint. Ever. He’ll gladly take a page from Steve’s book and haul himself across the hall to slug a guy right in the face if that’s what it comes down to. 

Maybe Bucky can trust that they’d do the same for him.

Maybe… maybe Steve included. 

***

By the time Bucky gets home, it’s late enough that he’s surprised to find that his parents haven’t gotten home from work yet. Lauren and Nicole have taken over the living room while they do their homework. Upstairs, Becky clearly has a friend or two in her room--Bucky could hear them from outside. Miss Agatha is still here, in the kitchen where Sophia is coloring at the table, making her chicken soup. One meal everyone can actually agree on. Which means their parents are probably not going to be home for dinner. 

“Hey, Aggie,” Bucky greets when he goes into the kitchen. Right over to the stove to smell the soup. Delicious. “Crazy day?” 

“Hi, babe.” She comes over and scoots him away from the stove so she can add carrots. “No more than usual. Why’re you so late?” 

“Uh.” He plucks a slice of onion off the pile she probably intends to dice up and grabs the jar of peanut butter from the pantry. “I went out with Clint after practice.”

“One slice, mister, or you’ll ruin your appetite. How’s Clint? And a call would’ve been nice.” 

“Sorry,” Bucky says, mouth full of onion and peanut butter. “He’s good.” He hopes, anyway. They parted with Clint smiling and thanking him for listening. Bucky thinks he did an okay job. “Hello, Soph.” He blows a raspberry on her cheek and she tries hard not to laugh while pushing him away and scolding him for interrupting coloring time. “Where’s Mom and Dad?” 

“One of your father’s clients is hosting a benefit,” Miss Agatha replies. “They’ll be there all night. So you’re stuck with me.” 

She turns around to pinch his cheek like she’s been doing since as long as he can remember. Miss Agatha is one of the reasons Bucky had gotten so close to Steve in the first place. Other than Bucky’s simple desire to be friends with him, of course. Since his father worked so much then in his attempts to make partner at the firm he works for and his mother had been busy studying for her PhD in economics, it was Miss Agatha that shuttled Bucky to and from Steve’s place during that winter. She’d been the one to set up playdates with Mrs. Rogers. She took him and Steve out to places even with, at the time, three little sisters needing to tag along. When Bucky really thought about it, Miss Agatha really nurtured their relationship. 

Now, he wonders who she did that for. Him, because she thought having Steve as a friend was a really good thing. Or for Steve, because she thought having Bucky as a friend was good for him. Maybe she thought they needed each other. He wouldn’t disagree. Not back then, anyway. 

“Hey, Aggie?” Bucky plops down at the table and doodles on a blank piece of paper with some of Sophia’s crayons. It’s terrible. Nothing like Steve. “You remember Steve?”

“Who?”

“Steve. Um, Steve Rogers? The little guy I was friends with when we were younger?” 

“Oh.” She’s over by the sink, washing her hands because she’s just re-done her long brown hair into a bun. Probably to keep it out of her face. There’s something of a flush under her fair skin. “Sure. Didn’t he and his mother move right before you started middle school?” 

Bucky almost laughs. Seems even Miss Agatha can’t solve this mystery for him either. Every time _he_ tries to remember, all he can recall is Steve and him being friends and then, as that school year drew to an end, Steve pulling away until he vanished. Steve had been smoke from a fire. Thick and potent and there and then disappearing without a trace once the flames were doused. 

“That’s what he says, too.” Bucky shrugs and drops a crayon. Brown. Apparently, he’s been trying to draw a tree. “But, I don’t know. If he was just moving, wouldn’t Mrs. Rogers have said something? Or even Steve?”

“Are you in touch with him again?”

“Oh, uh, yeah. Sorta. He came back to school in the middle of the ninth grade.” 

With a whole new look and a chip on his shoulder. One that Bucky would’ve gladly helped him with if only he’d’ve let him. 

“Well, if you’re friends again,” Miss Agatha says, “why don’t you just ask him?”

Bucky shakes his head. “We’re not… we’re not really friends.” I don’t know what we are, he thinks, but leaves that part off for now. These are things better thought of when he’s alone and able to open the box of things he thought he put away forever. 

“No? Why not? You two were really close when you were little.” 

This time, Bucky does laugh. Not with humor. Not even darkly. He just huffs out a laugh because he doesn’t know how else to react. At least he didn’t dream their friendship. It’d been real on the outside, too. 

“I’m honestly not sure. Steve hates me. Or hated me. It’s weird. But when he came back he was a totally different person.” Or maybe not, the jury’s still out on that one. “Someone who wanted nothing to do with me.” 

Focusing on Bucky now instead of dinner, Miss Agatha comes to the table to sit with him. She’s wearing her thinking-cap face. Lips pursed up in a slight twist. Furrow between her eyebrows. Gaze refusing to land on anything while her mind plays with thoughts. 

“Did you boys get into a fight?” she asks. “Before he left?”

“No. I mean, I don’t think so. I can’t remember if we did. I just remember Steve being here and then he was gone. I thought maybe you might remember something.”

She drums her fingers on the table. Makes sure Sophia takes the green crayon out of her mouth. She shrugs. 

“I think I remember their phone being disconnected right after graduation. Remember, you wanted him to come to Coney Island with you to celebrate that weekend but none of us could get ahold of them.” 

A gasp catches in Bucky’s throat. He’d forgotten all about that. Instead of having a graduation party, Bucky asked to go to Coney Island for the day with his closest friends. Which then included Tasha, Clint, _and_ Steve. At least, that’s what he thought at the time. It hadn’t mattered to Bucky that he and Steve weren’t spending everyday together anymore. Didn’t matter that they hadn’t had a playdate in weeks. It didn’t matter that the last several times he asked to have a sleepover, Steve said no. Steve had still become his best buddy over that year and Bucky wanted him there. 

But every time someone -- whether his mom or dad or Miss Agatha -- tried to call them, they got nowhere. Until the night before, when the line was officially disconnected. 

“That’s right,” Bucky murmurs. “I thought he just forgot to give me his phone number or something.”

Thinking back on it, that’s kind of a ridiculous thing to believe. Steve didn’t _forget_ to give him anything. He just didn’t. Steve left and didn’t even bother to let Bucky know. Bucky just wishes he knew _why_. 

“Well, honey,” Miss Agatha says, “why don’t you try asking him?” 

That’s a lot easier said than done. He and Steve aren’t exactly having heart-to-hearts when they get together. Plus, the last time Bucky brought it up, Steve almost ripped his head off just for asking. 

“I dunno.” Bucky sighs. He’s not even sure why any of this matters to him. Bucky’s got more important things that should be on his mind. “It’s not important anyway.” 

A smile tugs at the corners of Miss Agatha’s mouth. She gently pats Bucky’s hand before standing and telling Sophia to wash her hands while clearing off the table. 

“If he’s making you all flustered,” she says, “maybe it’s a _little_ important. Would you be a dear and go get your sisters for dinner?” 

Bucky, scrubbing a hand over his face as he goes to do what’s been asked of him, wonders if he’s always been so obvious or if it’s just that Miss Agatha has known him for so long. Because Steve does get him all flustered. _Flustered_. Bucky’s barely been able to get Steve off his mind since their first afternoon together. First with Steve implying that it’s _Bucky’s_ fault they’re no longer friends to that breakfast they shared and then seeing him painting his afternoon. Bucky’s head is just a whirlwind of confusion. Blacks and white and grays with just a splash of color.

After telling Lauren and Nicole that it’s time for dinner, Bucky heads upstairs to do the same for Becky. It’s quiet now. Her friends must’ve left sometime while he was in the kitchen. 

“Hey, Beck.” Bucky knocks on her door. “Time for--”

The door flies open before he can finish and Becky stands in front of him, wide-eyed and breathless. Like she just flew to her feet to answer the door as quickly as possible. 

“Bucky,” she says. “You’ve got mail.”

“What?”

“A letter. I put it on your desk cause I didn’t think you’d want anyone else to see.”

“A letter from who?”

Becky nibbles on her lip. A nervous habit he does as well. She looks down the hall at Bucky’s bedroom like she wishes this could be different. 

“I think...” she whispers. “I think it’s from Harvard.”

Eyes growing, Bucky breaks away from her and sprints right for his room. Just as she promised, Becky’s left an envelope for him on his desk. An envelope from Harvard. A thin, white envelope with his name on it and Harvard as the return address. Becky calls for him, but he slams the door closed before she reaches the room. 

Bucky’s hand trembles as he reaches for the envelope. He can’t breathe and his stomach has started doing some very impressive somersaults. Bucky just stares at the thing. 

This is so stupid. Bucky yanks his phone out of his pocket and dials for Natasha. They usually do their talking via text so she’s sure to think something is wrong. 

“What’s wrong?” Bucky almost chuckles at the greeting. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Even if he can barely get the word past the blade that’s made home in his throat. “I got a letter from Harvard.” 

A pause. Then, “And?”

“I haven’t opened it yet.” 

“Is it big or small?” 

Bucky swallows roughly. It hurts. “Small.”

Even over the phone, Bucky can hear her take in a deep breath. Probably trying to think of something to keep him calm. She knows him well. 

“That doesn’t mean it’s bad news,” she says. “They might be sending the rest of it later. Just open it.” 

“They’re gonna be so pissed if I didn’t get in.” 

“No, they won’t,” Natasha assures him. “They love you.” 

“I- I know. I know they do. But I need this.” Bucky slowly sinks down to his bed. “I need this to make everything perfect. That way…” 

He doesn’t finish that. Natasha gets the idea. The more he does right, the less reason they’ll have to be disappointed in him. 

“Open it, James,” Natasha says. “I’m here.” 

“Okay.” 

Bucky inhales through his nose and rips the envelope open on a heavy exhale. Hard part’s over. Now he just needs to pull the letter out. 

“Dear, Mr. Barnes,” he reads out loud, mostly to himself just like Steve remembers about him. “I am delighted to inform you that the Committee on Admissions has admitted you to the Class of 2023’s Fall Semester. Please accept my personal congratulations on all your achieve… wait…” Bucky pauses and reads all of that again. Whispers, “Holy shit…” 

“Bucky!” Natasha exclaims. “You did it! You got in!”

“I… I got in…” he says, barely able to hear his own voice over the pulse pounding in his ears. “I did it. I actually did it.” 

On the other end of the phone, Natasha is still saying things. Things about being excited and proud and so happy for him. Bucky’s pretty sure he should say something in response, but he’s unable to pry his hand away from his mouth. How else could he smother down potential sobs. The first tear that falls lands right over the word _congratulations_. 

“Bucky? James, are you still there? Did I lose you?”

“Mm-mm.” Bucky clears his throat. Tries for some words that won’t make his voice crack. “Thank you.” 

“Are you overwhelmed? Is this too much right now? Should I come over?”

“N-No. No, that’s okay. I’m fine.” He’s not fine. He’s not even sure why he’s not. All he knows is that this feeling of trepidation hasn’t gone away. He thought for sure that if he got this very acceptance letter, it would leave. “I got into Harvard.”

Natasha kind of laughs. “Just let that sink in for a bit. Maybe you’ll really start to feel it.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess…” Bucky sighs. “I gotta go. Dinnertime.”

“Okay. You call me if you need anything. Like, _anything_ , Bucky.” Now she’s pulled out her super serious tone. Her _no-one-hurts-Bucky-but-me_ voice. “Whatever’s going on in your head right now, give yourself some time to let it all untangle before you freak yourself out, okay? And if you need help with the untangling, you know where to find me.” 

“Mhm.” Despite the jumbled up emotions that make zero sense right now, Bucky’s able to crack a smile. “Thanks, Tasha.” 

“Yup. Love ya, Buck-Buck. And congratulations. You earned it.” 

“Thank you. Love you, too.”

Once they’re off the phone, Bucky considers texting Clint to let him know the, well, good, definitely good news. Only Bucky doesn’t think this is a texting matter and he’s in no mood to get on the phone again. Which is totally ridiculous, he just got into _Harvard_. Yet all he can do is sit there while attempting not to burst into tears. 

At least he’s not being pestered to join everyone for dinner. Becky must’ve covered for him. Bucky owes her for this one. 

Wiping the back of his arm across his eyes, Bucky goes over to his desk. In the desk drawer, he keeps a folder with the other acceptance letters he’s gotten. Three Ivy Leagues now and one that his parents don’t even know about. Bucky slips the Harvard letter into the folder and takes out his acceptance to the University California, Los Angeles.

_Congratulations!_ it reads. _It is our great pleasure to offer you admission to UCLA for the fall quarter 2019!_

This particular letter weighs a ton. They must’ve printed it using special ink or something. Bucky can’t keep it out any longer and puts it away, storing it beneath the universities that he’s supposed to be choosing from. On the chair at his desk, Bucky closes the folder and shuts the drawer. He probably should head down to dinner. 

Instead, his eyes flick up to the corkboard on the wall above his desk. Over the years, Bucky’d stuck a lot of things up there. Pictures. Concert tickets. Ticket stubs. Behind one picture of him, Natasha, and Clint from a Halloween a few years ago, sticks out the corner of a piece of paper. Bucky hasn’t looked at that in years. Right now, he just stares at the corner peeking out from behind the photo. He can’t see anything on it, but he knows what’s there. Bucky lifts the picture. Looks at the sketch of the tree. The very first sketch that Steve had ever shown him. 

Bucky doesn’t even know why he still has it. He remembers pinning it up there. Remembers clearly the day Steve gave it to him. All shy and bashful. For your birthday, he’d said. There’s coloring now. A sky at night. Stars. A thin, silver moon. Shadows of the branches reaching together like arms ready to embrace. Steve drew this when he was ten. Bucky can’t imagine how talented he must be now. Judging by what he saw today while Steve was working, he’d say it’s insurmountable. 

Maybe Steve wouldn’t be opposed to showing Bucky some of his art now. The thought actually makes Bucky smile. It shouldn’t. For one, Steve probably won’t show him anything. Even if he did, it’s not like it’d mean anything. Bucky doesn’t need it to mean anything anyway. 

A huff catches in the back of Bucky’s throat as he lets the picture of him and his friends cover up the sketch again. 

“What is wrong with me?” he mutters, tossing his head back. “This is so stupid. We’re not even _friends_.” 

They’re not. Maybe Bucky can say they’re school acquaintances now, but there’s nothing more than that and definitely no reason for Steve to be taking up so much room in his head. Bucky has way too many things that he _needs_ to be thinking about to even bother with thoughts on Steve Rogers. 

Speaking of, Bucky needs to get downstairs. Becky can only hold Miss Agatha off for so long. Soon enough, she’ll be calling up to him. Rather than letting it get that far, Bucky heaves out of his seat to go eat dinner. 

***

Miss Agatha had been right in saying Bucky’s parents would be out all night. They don’t come in until after one in the morning, arms linked and both laughing. Once they shut the door, still laughing at whatever made them laugh before getting in, they hush each other at the same time which only makes them laugh again. 

It’s cute, actually, seeing his parents come tumbling in at this late hour, giggling like a pair of young lovers. Though, to be fair, the lovers part does leave an icky taste in the back of Bucky’s mouth. So he’s glad that they notice him sitting in the living room, watching television right away. If they didn’t, he may’ve ended up interrupting a parental make-out session. 

“Bucky!” his mother exclaims when she sees him there. “What’re you doing up, honey?”

His father checks his watch, as though wondering if he’s the one that’s gotten the time wrong. When he sees he’s clearly hasn’t, he stands up straighter. 

“It’s after one,” he says. “Are you okay?”

“Did something happen?” Mom follows with. “You’re not hurt, are you? Or one of your sisters?”

Her gaze immediately moves for the ceiling, four more heartstrings pulling toward the second floor where, presumably, her four daughters are sleeping soundly. 

“I’m okay,” Bucky answers. “But, something did sorta happen. Not bad, though. Just…” 

He holds up the letter he received earlier. He’d considered just doing this tomorrow, but, to be honest, he wouldn’t’ve gotten much sleep anyway. He’s been practicing for his scholarship meeting, instead. This is ready to burst from his chest. Alien and unfamiliar. Bucky’s not sure if the right emotions have shown up yet or why they’re taking their sweet ass time to get here. They better show up soon otherwise something is seriously wrong with him. He just got into _Harvard_. He should be running up and down the streets shouting it at the top of his lungs. Instead, all he can think about is that folder upstairs. 

“What is that?” Mom clicks a lamp on. Fills the room with more light. “Is that from school?”

“Well.” Bucky cracks a smile. “It’s from _a_ school.”

Bucky unfolds the paper just enough that the letterhead is visible. They both recognize it within a heartbeat. His mother gasps. His father comes closer. Looks as though he wants to snatch the letter right out of Bucky’s hand so he can read it for himself. 

“And?” he asks instead. “What does it say?” 

Bucky takes in a deep, steadying breath. “I- I got in.” 

“Oh my god!” Mom shrieks, even now in the middle of the night, throwing her arms over her head. “I knew you would! I just knew it! My son! A Harvard graduate!” 

Those arms go from waving in the air to being wrapped around him before Bucky can even blink. He can barely even breathe, she hugs him so tightly. He can breathe even less when his father swathes his arms around them both, hugging Bucky from behind. 

“Congratulations, son,” he says, excitement in his voice while still able to maintain his indoor tone. “You’ve earned it.” 

Earned it. Yes. Bucky’s worked his ass off for the past four years to get to this moment. Right now, even after spending an evening out and probably filled with a decent amount of wine or champagne or even both, his mom is taking a picture of the letter so she can brag to everyone. His father has gone off to fetch a frame so that they can put it on the mantle. 

Just like that, all the other acceptance letters upstairs in that folder have become obsolete. They’ll sit there just gathering dust while Bucky steps on the path he’s paved for his future. He now has the key he needs to get into the front door. And something inside hurts. 

“Honey, are you okay?”

His mother’s voice breaks the trance Bucky’s found himself stuck in. He thought breaking the good news to his parents would make a difference. That the excitement and pride and rush of adrenaline pumping through his body would show up now. But it still hasn’t. Bucky feels… numb. He just doesn’t understand why. 

“Yeah,” Bucky lies. “I think I’m just tired. It’s late, so I, uh, I should head to bed.”

“Our Harvard boy needs his rest.” Dad laughs and claps him on the back. “Go get some sleep, Buck. We’ll celebrate in the morning.” 

First getting another lung squeezing hug from his mother, followed by a series of kisses on both cheeks, Bucky buries himself under the blankets in his bed. Choking down the odd sensation of needing to cry, it takes him quite a while to shut his brain up long enough to finally fall asleep. When he does, it’s only after thinking about Steve. In the art room. With paint all over his naked body. 

***

Bucky sighs. At his locker after ninth period, he sighs and rests his brow against the door. The hallway is crammed today. Some people are still congratulating him as they leave. None of them quite as enthusiastically as Clint had this morning.

“So.” Bucky leaned against his locker before class. “I have face-to-face news for you.”

“Face-to-face,” Clint repeated. “Does that mean Natasha already knows?”

Eyes dropping to his feet, Bucky nibbled on his lip and sorta shrugged, sheepish grin pulling up on his mouth. 

“Well…”

“Oh, shut up.” Clint chuckled and shoved his shoulder. “What’s the news?” 

“I, um, I got in--”

“Shut up!” Clint didn’t even let him finish. “You got into Harvard?!” 

“Uh.” Bucky got out an uneasy snicker. “Y-yeah, actually.” 

“Holy _shit_ , bro! That’s awesome!”

He held his hand out for a five but when their hands connected, Clint yanked him in for a tight hug and then started shouted to everyone in the hall that his best friend was going to Harvard. 

“Oh my god, Barton,” Bucky grumbled. “Everyone is staring.” 

Clint had shooed them away after that and, other than being congratulated all day, the day went on as normal. 

Now, everyone is in a hurry to get out. People rushing around to get the hell out of here as fast as they can to get their weekend started. Not Bucky, who’s in a button down and tie because there’s a game tomorrow and players need to dress nicely on game days or before them if they fall on a Saturday. Bucky needs to stay for basketball practice again. But before practice, he’s got another meeting with Steve. And Bucky hasn’t been so nervous before meeting with Steve since that first day. 

Not only did Bucky foolishly picture Steve naked to help himself fall asleep last night, that led to certain dreams of a very similar nature. His imagination came up with very creative uses for paint, too. 

Still, creative dreams or not, Bucky can’t be wasting his time with such fantasies. Any fantasy on Steve, especially. Not only is it a waste of time, Steve isn’t... he just… well, it’s not like Bucky could ever act on those fantasies anyway. Better to not have them at all then to question _why_ he was having them.

Sighing again, Bucky stuffs his books into his locker and pulls out his jacket. When Bucky slams his locker shut he gasps and staggers back, shocked to see that Steve’s been leaning behind the door this whole time. Or at least enough time to startle him with his presence. 

“Jesus,” Bucky mutters. 

“No, it’s _Steve_.” He flashes a grin. “But we’re always accepting new members.” 

“Hilarious.” Bucky slings his backpack over his shoulder. “What’s up?”

Steve lifts an eyebrow. “We’re supposed to meet up today, aren’t we?” 

“Oh. Yeah, but we usually meet--”

“Yeah, about that. I had a question. Do we _need_ to be in the library? Or can we go somewhere else?” 

He asks the question seriously. Bucky has no reason to think there’s any ulterior motive behind it. No, there really isn’t any reason they can’t go to another room for their session. Still, this is Steve, so Bucky can’t be too careful.

“Why?” he asks. Just to check. “What’s wrong with the library?”

“Nothing.” Steve shrugs. “Not that I know of anyway. But I’m kind of workin’ with a deadline, so maybe we can do this thing in the art room?”

The art room. Oh, that can’t be good. If it was hard enough just standing outside the art room yesterday, Bucky can’t imagine how much more difficult it’ll be actually sitting in there trying to make conversation while Steve works. While he gets paint all over his hands. While the energy of the room changes and bends to his will. While Bucky tries to do some sort of peer mediations, ignoring the waves crashing over the room.

“Unless, of course,” Steve says, pushing away from the row of lockers and suddenly throwing himself at Bucky, “you just can’t take your eyes off of me!” 

“Steve!” Bucky nearly topples over. “What the--!”

“Just admit it, Bucky,” Steve shrieks. “You _love_ me!”

A laugh, somewhere deep in the pit of Bucky’s belly, rocks his whole body as he tries to shoves Steve off of him, and, for a little guy, that proves to be pretty damn difficult. 

“Steve!” Bucky laughs. “Get off of me, you doof!” 

“I can’t! We’re _soulmates_!” 

That word wraps around them like a silky red bow. Quick and a little sloppy, but it’s certainly there and Bucky’s not sure what to do about that other than giggle. Face bright red. Until Rumlow rounds the corner, headed right for them. 

The second Bucky spots him, his blood runs cold. Not only is he with Steve, Steve’s all over him and they’re giggling and smiling and it shouldn’t matter; it _shouldn’t_ but it does. Bucky doesn’t want it to. He wants this churning feeling that’s replaced his bubbly giggles to disappear. 

He’s not really sure what to do. On the one hand, he doesn’t want Steve to think this has anything to do with him. That he doesn’t want Steve near him or anything because that’s certainly not the case. Far from it. But if Rumlow sees them, sees them all over each other like this, it could mean a world of shit for Bucky. Rumors. Lies. Possible harassment. Some of the last things Bucky needs right now. 

Problem is, Bucky has no idea how to handle this without sounding like a complete dick. Only he doesn’t have to. Steve glances over his shoulder and must see Bucky’s dilemma. Without a word, he pulls away and props up against the lockers again. His eyes drop. His jaw tightens. His fists shake. Bucky swears he even stops breathing when Rumlow actually passes by them, just in time to take a glance and give them a disgusted look. Rumlow even opens his mouth like he’s about to say something but before he can, Bucky takes the opportunity to act as the captain of the team just like he’s meant to be. 

“Tie your tie, Rumlow,” he instructs. “You know it only comes off right before practice.” 

“It _is_ right before practice, Barnes,” he grumbles but reties the tie anyway. “Such a pain in my ass.” 

Once he’s gone, Bucky turns back to find Steve looking at him with a complicated expression on his face. A storm in his eyes that can either blow over or crash over unexpected shores. Bucky gives him a sheepish grin. 

“Sorry,” Bucky murmurs. “I didn’t--”

“Didn’t do anything.”

Steve shrugs. A few drops of rain spatter down, but the storm gets no worse. 

“You kept your cool,” Bucky says. “That was good.” 

Steve scoffs a soft chuckle. His eyes flick back up to Bucky and he shrugs, flinging his hood over his head. 

“Whatever. You gonna scribble that down on your little Steve Pad?” 

“Actually.” Bucky hadn’t really thought about that, but it’s a good idea. Looks good for Steve. “Yeah. It’s a good thing. It’ll show Mr. Pierce that--”

“Pierce is an--”

“Ass, I know.” Bucky nods and gestures down the hall. “But it still reflects positively on your record. C’mon. Let’s go to the art room.” 

That makes a new smile blossom on Steve’s face. All traces of that storm are now gone. Steve doesn’t answer. He just shoves his hands in the front pockets of his hoodie and heads down the hall. 

Once in the art room, Steve goes straight to the locked closet. At first, Bucky thinks this whole thing is a bust. Steve’s not gonna be able to do anything if he can’t get to his stuff or any of the supplies he needs. But then, from out of the neck of his shirt, Steve pulls out of key on a chain. The key for the door. 

“Mr. Howlett just gives you a key for the supply closet?” Bucky asks. 

“Believe it or not, Barnes,” Steve says as he heaves the door open, “some people actually trust me.” 

At one of the tables, pulling out the notebook he’s been using for these peer mediation sessions, Bucky glances at Steve. Or would, but he’s disappeared into the closet. 

“Hey, I didn’t say I didn’t trust you.” 

“I didn’t say you didn’t,” Steve says, emerging again while shoving a box full of canvases with his foot and an armful of paint bottles and hands gripping several brushes. “Just people in general.” 

“You want help with that?”

Bucky’s already rising out of his chair. Steve looks about one step away from dropping everything on the floor. But he shakes his head. 

“Don’t need your help.”

Bucky sighs. “I know you don’t _need_ my help. I’m just offering it, geez, were you always this stubborn?”

That smile appears on Steve’s face again as he puts everything down on the table next to the one Bucky’s occupied. Once his hands are freed he puts them on his thin hips and cocks his head to the side. 

“Yes,” he answers. “So. What do we talk about today?” 

Steve is moving about the room, putting a few of those canvases on easels and mixing paints and swapping hoodie for that same oversized t-shirt Bucky saw him wearing yesterday. 

The last time they spoke, earlier in the week, Bucky went over the general definitions of conflicts and the characterizations surrounding them. Although he huffed and rolled his eyes about it, Steve wrote down everything Bucky said and promised that he’d study it. They might as well just review that today. 

“What’re the nine sources of conflict?” 

Just about to touch one of the brushes kissed with paint to a canvas, Steve pulls up short at the last second and shoots a look at Bucky, lip crooked and nose crinkled. 

“Huh?”

“The nine sources of conflict,” Bucky clarifies. “We talk about them earlier in the week. What are they?”

Steve snorts and this time gets the paint where he wanted it. He shakes his head with a heavy sigh. Paints a little more and speaks as he works. 

“This is so ridiculous. What the hell is this gonna do for me anyway?”

“It’s gonna get Mr. Pierce off your back and keep you from being expelled. So.” Bucky turns back a page where he has them all written down. “You wanna review them again? That way--”

“The nine sources of conflict are change, conflicting goals and objectives, limited resources, personality differences, exterior pressures, differing expectations, personal problems, organizational conflict, competition or rivalry, poor communication, different viewpoints, values, generational, and/or cultural differences, and last but not least, aggressive and/or insecure individuals.” 

When Steve finishes, and he’s said all that while painting and as though he was reciting the alphabet, all Bucky can do is stare at him. He’s even still working on his project. 

“Um. Uh, yeah. Yeah, that’s… that’s right.” Bucky shakes his head. He didn’t think Steve would remember more than one of them let alone all of them. “So, if you had to assign any of these characteristics to yourself, which would you choose?”

Still focused on his art, and Bucky’s trying fabulously hard to not pay attention to that, Steve’s eyebrows pull together. He scoffs a little laugh. 

“You mean, you want me to self-diagnose myself?” 

“It’s kinda part of the process. Identify the sources of conflict in yourself in an attempt to avoid conflict in the future.” 

“Well.” Steve has one brush between his teeth, one behind his right ear, and the one he’s working with. “What do _you_ think?” 

Oh, hell no. Bucky’s not touching that with a ten-foot pole. Whatever he says has the potential to blow up right in his face. He shakes his head. Holds his palms out.

“That’s not the point of this exercise,” he says. “You’re supposed to point out your flaws yourself.” 

“Flaws? I thought they were characteristics.” 

“I… that’s not…” Bucky sighs. “That’s not what I meant.”

Steve grins. “I know. I like this Bucky. He’s fun. Well, if I _have_ to pick… I guess it’s personality differences and generational differences, and different viewpoints.” He pauses. Hesitates even. Then, “And… and, I guess, insecurities.” 

Heart slamming against his ribs, Bucky pauses in his note taking when Steve says that last part. While he considered that last part himself as one of Steve's areas of conflict, he never, not in a million years, thought Steve would come out and say it. When he brings his pen back down, though, Steve’s soft voice stops him.

“W-wait, Bucky.” He glances up at him. “Could you… could you leave that last one out? Please?”

A soft grin tugs at the corner of Bucky's mouth. He hasn't heard _that_ Steve in years. So much vulnerability. That openness. There's no way he could deny him that when Steve's exposed a side of himself he's kept hidden for years. 

"Yeah," Bucky says. "No problem, Steve."

Also smiling, Steve keeps painting while murmuring a quiet thanks and then says nothing. Which isn't good. Bucky can't let it stay silent. Silence means Steve will get absorbed in his work. Absorbed in his work means, well, Bucky's still trying to figure that one out, but he'd rather not do that with Steve in the room with him so he clears his throat and flattens the page he's writing on even though it isn't wrinkled. 

“Uh. So. Um. This is good. You’re making progress.” Bucky writes that down. He’s not sure why. “Yeah. Knowing yourself is good. It can help you. Y’know. Like, avoid future conflict. And… stuff.” 

Steve’s stopped working now. His brush is still mid-stroke, but he isn’t moving. In fact, he’s looking at Bucky like Bucky’s drunk or something.

“Dude,” Steve says. “Did I break you?” 

“N-no.” Bucky buries his face in his palms as Steve focuses on his work again. “Sorry. What were we talking about again?” 

“I have no idea.” Steve chuckles. “You sounded like a broken record. Went on and on about something being good.” 

“Well, I just meant, I mean, I think you’re making progress.”

A noise gets lodged in the back of Steve’s throat. The sort of noise that sounds annoyed without him having to make any other. 

“I… I only meant--”

“I know what you mean,” Steve says. “Just as long as I’m not gettin’ expelled.”

“Uh, yeah, well.” Bucky scratches the back of his head. “You won’t as long as you stay out of trouble. No fights for another few weeks and you’ll be good.” 

Another noise gets stuck in Steve’s throat. This time, it makes Bucky looks up at him. He’s not quite sure what this one means. 

“This ends then?” Steve waves between them. “And then I’m free of you?” 

A lump forms in Bucky’s throat. He thought these past few weeks had at least gone okay for them. Not bad, anyway. Not in a way that would make Steve want to be free of him. Again. Chin in his hand, Bucky taps his pen against his notebook. He knew this was a mistake. Bucky knew stepping out of school that morning with Steve that he was making a mistake, but he still made it. 

“Bucky?” Bucky’s eyes flick over to him. Steve’s lowered his brush. “I… I didn’t mean it like that.” He sucks his lip piercings under his teeth and shakes his head. “Anyway, c’mere and take a look at this. Tell me what you think.” 

Pulse quickening, Bucky doesn’t move at first. That’s not the way Steve does this. He never shows anyone his work until he’s fully satisfied with it. Steve doesn’t take that back, though. He just waits for Bucky to come over as he’s been asked. So Bucky, slowly pushing away from the table and rising out of the chair, goes to stand by Steve to look at his work. And chokes back a gasp at what he sees. 

Steve’s added all his canvases now. All six of them. They’re all badass medieval versions of comic book characters--one particular ragtag team--yet they still maintain that mystical and superhero qualities about them. 

The Iron Man Steve's painted is in full knight-in-shining armor get-up only there’s something steampunk about it. Gears and springs and other mechanics making the armor his weapon. And the God of Thunder still wields his mighty hammer, lightning coming from it and him as fingers of it stretches across the sky above and the ground below. The archer, Hawkeye, has a more Robin Hood feel to him--no armor, but a quiver slung over his shoulder and an arrow strung as he threw himself from a castle wall. The Black Widow, Bucky thinks, is one of the most impressive. She, too, has armor, but, true to Steve’s values, she’s in proper armor--no cleavage showing, no crazy butt pose. Just another knight posed with two swords ready to face down her enemies. Steve’s kept the Hulk big, muscular, and green, but he’s turned him into a gladiator. Around his wrist is a shackle with broken chain hanging from it as though he’d been imprisoned. In the center of it all, Steve’s painted Captain America with his round shield traded for a more traditional looking one. He’s got pieces of armor falling off of him and that shield is cracking right up the middle, but he’s still fighting. Typical. Because that’s why Steve always loved the character. Even if all that armor is stripped away and his shield shattered to pieces, Captain America would get back to his feet, raise his fists, and keep on fighting. 

While each painting can stand alone as its own, when Steve has them all together like this, Bucky can see the battle that they’re clearly fighting. There’s no enemy in the scene, but he can easily picture it. Some oppressive ruler and their army. These heroes the last hope for the people. The forces of evil making one last play that almost gets the better of the good guys. The heroes’ crowning moment of glory. Steve’s captured it all so beautifully. 

“Steve…” Bucky whispers, and can’t seem to find any words after that. 

“We were supposed to use literary characters and take them out of their original setting,” Steve explains. “Since that’s sorta fanart anyway, I asked if I could use comic book characters and they said yes. So.” 

Bucky almost reaches out to touch the cracking shield, a strange protective instinct washing through him. Like he needs to get in there and keep him safe. Which is completely ridiculous, Captain America is a superhero, the leader of the team. Fights for those who can’t fight for themselves. Speaks out against injustice. Does the right thing all the time no matter the cost to him. And he’s just Bucky Barnes. A seventeen-year-old nobody. He can’t even figure out how to be himself with the people he loves most. 

“Bucky? You… okay?” Steve asks. “Does your silence mean it’s bad or…?”

“Mm-mm.” Bucky’s sure to keep his hand away from the fresh paint. “It’s amazing. Is this for a scholarship or something?” 

Sucking on his lip piercing again, Steve moves away from the easel to start putting his supplies away. Not looking back at Bucky, he shrugs and shakes his head. 

“Not really.” Steve goes to the sink to start washing his brushes. “Or sorta. It’s complicated.”

Complicated. Bucky sure knows a thing or two about that. 

“I got into Harvard.” 

Steve immediately stops what he’s doing to spin back around, jaw already dropped by the time he’s facing Bucky again. A huge--and Bucky’s pretty sure--proud smile lights his face. 

“Dude!” he exclaims. “And you waited this long to say something? Congratulations! You did it! That’s awesome!” 

Awesome, yeah. It should be. Bucky’s gotten himself into Harvard University, but that same, horrible pit is still sitting right in his stomach. Like fire and lead, it twists and turns, never settling into one form long enough for Bucky to figure out exactly what it is. So, instead of smiling and thanking Steve, just as he’s done whenever he’s had this interaction with anyone else today, Bucky can’t even muster up a reply. To lie to Steve Rogers, of all people. 

Steve’s smile falters. “Or… not? Is it not awesome, cause I’m gettin’ kind of a weird vibe here.” 

“Yeah. I mean… of course, it’s awesome. Why wouldn’t it be?” Even the words taste wrong as they come out of Bucky’s mouth. “It’s Harvard. We’ve been talking about Harvard since I was, like, twelve.” 

Just like he explained to Steve at the diner. It’s not hard to understand. But if Bucky can’t even understand it, why should Steve.

“Uh-ha.” Steve huffs a short laugh and pulls out a chair to sit backwards on it. “And is that where _you_ want to go to school, Bucky? Or is it where your _parents_ want you to go to school?” 

That lead in Bucky’s stomach twists some more, the flames licking the sides rolling over the whole thing now. Smoke and ash fill his mouth. Makes it rather difficult to answer. 

“I… it’s Harvard,” is all Bucky can really say. 

“Yeah, but there’re other schools.” Steve fiddles with his tongue ring. “Where do you wanna go?” 

Eyes dropping to his toes, Bucky shifts his weight from foot to foot, trying to gather his thoughts. He knows the answer to this. It’s been the same for years now. 

“H-Harvard,” he whispers. Everything he’s worked for has been for Harvard. “I have to go to Harvard.” 

“But--”

“Well what the hell are _you_ gonna do, Steve?” Bucky snaps. “What’s _your_ plan?”

Steve stares at him for just a second before nodding and holding his palms out as though his inquiry is perfectly normal. He _did_ tell him to ask him again sometime. This is again. This is sometime.

“Fair enough,” he says. “I’m probably not going to college.” 

Any bit of irritation that might’ve been searching for a new outlet though Bucky’s body abruptly fizzles away. His eyes flick back to the paintings. 

“But, I thought--”

“I said it was complicated,” Steve replies. He gets off the chair and resumes his clean-up. “Anyway, college is probably not in my future. Not any time soon anyway.” 

“But, what about your m…” Bucky cuts himself off there. At the same time, Steve’s gaze swings back to meet his. That’s right. No bringing up Steve’s mom. “I mean… uh. What’re you gonna do then?” 

Steve chuckles. Doesn’t sound like there’s much strength or humor to it. He’s drying his brushes when he leans back against the sink. 

“I don’t know. Not everyone mapped it out at twelve-years-old.” He shoots Bucky a grin. “Maybe I’ll be a tattoo artist.”

The idea, to Bucky, sounds horrifying. To not have a plan, not even a general idea, is like walking into the woods at night without a map. Without a compass. Without even a light at the other end to guide him through. 

“Doesn’t that worry you?” Bucky asks. “Not… knowing?”

“I’ve got other things to worry about more than college.”

More than college? Bucky can’t imagine what the hell could be more important than preparing for college. Getting everything right. Making sure to get into the right school. That’s the way to the perfect future. The only way. 

“So. I’d hate to keep you from practice,” Steve says, locking the closet door. “Big game tomorrow and all.” 

Bucky shoots a look at the clock. His stomach falls when he sees he’s been here with Steve for nearly forty-five minutes already. He’s late. For being late, but later than he should be. 

“Shit.” Bucky slams his notebook closed and hurries to gather his things. “Sorry. I gotta--”

“Yeah, yeah.” Steve is already waving him off. “Good luck tomorrow.” 

“Thanks!”

The well-wishing is greatly appreciated, especially the following night at the game. A nail biter the whole time. The Shields come back to win it with only two seconds to spare when Bucky manages to pass to Clint who hits the ball off the backboard for a three-pointer. They win by one point. 

Bucky’s joined by the whole team center court to celebrate. His parents and sisters are in the stands. Natasha is sitting with Sam and Riley, Thor and Jane. Tony and Pepper have a sign, Bucky noticed it when the game first began. Angie is with the rest of the cheerleaders doing one final performance for their win. Peggy more than likely there for her, but still cheers for the team right next to Sharon. 

But all Bucky notices through a crowd of people and over the tops of heads, as he gets doused in water, and high-fives his teammates, and hugs a gross and sweaty as him Clint, is Steve Rogers with his shoulder propped against the gym door and a smirk on his face. 

 


	8. Tutor Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky gets a surprising request from Steve

“It was _not_ a fight.” 

Steve greets Bucky with a worried pinch between his eyes and these words the following week at the library. Before Bucky even sits with him. Bucky just blinks.

“What?”

“I swear to fuck, it wasn’t a fight, it was just…” His eyes drop to the desk and search for an answer there. Comes up with pretty much more of the same. “It was just a stupid argument and we’re good now.” 

“Who?”

“Me and Tony.” Steve shakes his head. “It was just a misunderstanding in math, it wasn’t a big deal. Just… don’t tell Pierce.”

“Steve--”

“Please, Bucky.” Steve’s voice cracks on the please. “I- I can’t get expelled. I can’t go back--” He physically stops himself from saying the rest of that. “Just… if you can just… don’t say nothin’ about this, I promise, I’ll try harder, I will, I… I’ll be good, I swear.”

He stops there. Almost as though he’s simply run out of words to beg with. Steve’s actually trembling. He keeps sucking on his lip piercing to keep his lip from quivering. Tears, Bucky swears, build behind his eyes. Bucky’s never seen him so shaken. At least, not in recent years. The thought of being expelled really does scare the shit out of him. Bucky, honestly, didn’t think he cared all that much. Looks like he was very wrong. 

“Steve,” Bucky says as he sits with him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

Steve, catching his breath with his hand around his inhaler, looks at him with a pair of wide, confused eyes. Moonbeans searching through the dark sky. 

“Didn’t… didn’t he tell you?” 

“Who? And what about?”

First wiping at his eyes -- under his glasses again today -- Steve sniffles and hurries to compose himself. The idea of displaying such emotions must be a nightmare for him. 

“Tony. Stark. We had a-- it wasn’t a fight. I swear.” Steve smothers his face in his palms and groans. He stretches his arms across the whole table, his fingers almost reaching Bucky’s chest. “We had this argument. It got… kinda heated, but… I figured he’d tell you. Y’know, cause you’re friends and with this and all.”

“He doesn’t know about _this_ , Steve,” Bucky says. “I haven’t told anyone.”

“That you’re doing peer mediation?”

“No. This is nobody else’s business.” 

Again, Steve looks at Bucky like his a little baffled. Bucky’s not sure why. Mr. Coulson must’ve told Steve at least a little about how this works. There’s _some_ level of confidentiality. All Bucky’s supposed to share is Steve’s progress and that’s only with Mr. Coulson and eventually Mr. Pierce. But Bucky’s not about to go around blabbing what’s going on between him and Steve to everyone else. 

“O-oh.” Steve leans back in the seat. “I just figured you’d…”

“I’d what?”

“I don’t know,” Steve whispers. Taps the table with his hands a few times before clearing his throat. “So. What’s on the agenda today?” 

In the blink of an eye, Steve goes from being nearly a wreck to acting like everything’s fine. He’s even smirking. A twinkle in his eyes. That dimple staring happily at Bucky. 

Bucky tries to shake his thoughts back into place. Not only had Steve been close to hysterics, he thought Bucky’d gone around telling people about their meetings, and a hard lump falls into his stomach. 

“Steve,” Bucky says, “Did you really think I’d just tell everyone about this?”

Digging at something -- paint, probably -- under his nails, Steve shrugs a shoulder and makes a funny face. When he looks up at Bucky, though, his face changes. He scratches at the piercing in his eyebrow and shakes his head. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “You didn’t tell about the peanut butter. I dunno why you’d tell about this.” 

“I wouldn’t, Steve.”

Steve nods. Whispers, “I know.” 

They sit there silently for a few seconds just looking at each other. For one wild moment, Bucky thinks about placing his hand down on Steve’s, which are both still stretched across the desk. The idea is beyond ridiculous, though. Bucky can’t believe it’s even entered his brain. 

‘Steve, can I ask you something?” 

Gaze falling away from Bucky’s, Steve straightens up again but leaves his arms stretched across the tabletop. He pulls in a deep breath as though anticipating something huge. 

“Maybe. What is it?” 

“What… what happens if you get expelled?” 

There’s all sorts of rumors. Bucky’s heard several of them. Not just about Steve, but lots of people. He’s heard that people get homeschooled or go to new schools or even boarding schools. But the way Steve seems to dread being expelled, there’s gotta be something even worse in store for him than any of that. 

Bucky’s not even sure that Steve’s gonna answer anyway. He’s not exactly been the most forthcoming with personal information. Bucky realizes that he doesn’t even know where Steve lives anymore. 

When Steve clears his throat, Bucky lifts his eyes again and waits patiently for what he hopes is an answer. Steve isn’t quite looking at him, but his eyes continue to dart back up to Bucky’s. He twists his lips and closes his eyes. Almost as though if he’s not looking, he says it no one.

“I guess it’s only a matter of time before you find out anyway,” he grumbles. “Might as well hear it from me.”

“Hear what from you?”

“They’ll send back to a… home.” 

“A home?”

Steve nods and says nothing to elaborate that. Unfortunately, Bucky still doesn’t really understand what any of that means. All he gets is that Steve’ll be sent somewhere.

“What does that mean?”

“For troubled boys,” he mutters.

Heart first flying up to his throat, Bucky can’t say a word until it falls into his stomach. Even then, his brain very kindly shuts down. Because the idea of Sarah Rogers sending Steve away for _any_ reason is just completely unfathomable. The library spins around him. Bucky even braces himself on the desk. 

“You mean…” Bucky can’t believe he’s asking this. “Were you in juvie?”

“No. Not really.” Steve shifts in his chair. “It’s this… residential center. Like a group home only not a group home. Upstate.”

“Is that… is that where you were?”

Steve, eyes downcast, shakes his head. “Just from the end of eighth grade till I came back here.” 

A year and a half, then. For almost two years, Steve was upstate in some home for troubled boys. That still doesn’t account for the four years before that. Steve disappeared the summer before _sixth_ grade and reappeared in tenth. 

“Then where were you before that?” Bucky asks. “Where’d you go?” 

“I told you,” Steve grumbles. “I hadda move.” 

Yes, he did tell him that. The morning they went to the diner. He didn’t, or _wouldn’t_ , tell him anything more than that. Just that he had to move. Not the why or the where or even the actual when. Looks like he’s not ready to talk about it now either. But there’s something different than before. 

This time, Steve doesn’t look all grumpy or irritated about it. He hasn’t exactly snapped at Bucky either. His response leaves something to be desired, but he’s not what Bucky’d call nasty. Really, Steve comes off as nervous. Not like before, but he is fiddling with his piercing again. Same with his fingers. He’s drumming them along the desktop. He also hasn’t made eye contact with Bucky again. 

“Why… But… why…” Bucky can’t get the question out of his mouth. It just keeps getting caught in his throat. “Why were you sent…”

Not being able to ask the question doesn’t seem to matter. Steve understands it without Bucky having to come out and actually ask. 

“I…” He hesitates, eyes dropping to the table. “I got… I got into some… some trouble. Got sent away until there was room for me…“ Steve bites his lip and shakes his head. “I mean…”

“Steve.” This time, Bucky does put his hand over Steve’s. It gets Steve to look up at him. Much to Bucky’s surprise, he doesn’t pull his hands away. “We don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to. But… we _can_ , if you ever do.” 

Now, Steve does pull his hands back. He clears his throat and sorta nods without looking at Bucky anymore. 

“I, um, yeah. Thanks.”

That’s probably a no, never. Still, the offer is on the table and at least Steve knows that now as another round of silence descends upon them. Until a thought enters his mind that makes his blood run cold. 

“Can I… ask one more question about it?” Bucky can’t help himself. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

God, Bucky hopes he does. He’ll torture himself with worry if Steve gives him anything but a straight answer.

“Uh…” Steve shifts in his seat. “I guess. What’s your question?” 

“Did… did anyone ever--”

“No.” Steve doesn’t even let him say it. “No, there was never anything like that. I just…” He swallows hard. “I hated it there.”

“What was it like?”

The question comes out just above a whisper. Bucky can barely bring himself to ask it. He probably shouldn’t at all; not after what Steve’s already told him about it. Just knowing he hated it should be enough to quell his curiosity. But it doesn’t, and his question hangs in the air like a wall between the two of them. 

“It was…” He has trouble with the answer. “You ever… been in a classroom and you’re havin’ a bad day?” Bucky nods. “All you wanna do is get the fuck outta there, right? But you can’t. And those stupid, white, concrete walls creep closer and closer and no matter what you do it’s like the stupid clock doesn’t move so time just stands still and you’re stuck. You’re just… _stuck_.” Steve peers up at him. “That’s what it was like. Every day. I mean, I hate it here, too, but I don’t ever wanna be sent there again. You have no idea what that’s…”.

Whether he hates it here in school or here in Brooklyn, Bucky’s not sure, but Steve’s voice drops in pain when he says that last part. Pain. Bucky hears pain in his voice. Steve is in pain and Bucky can’t imagine how long he’s been in it. What’s worse, he doesn’t know how to help him. Other than maybe making sure he doesn’t get expelled and sent away again.

“So. Um.” Bucky pretends to cough. “You had a fight with Tony?”

“Wha-? _No._ ” He looks nervous again. “Were you even listening to the story? It _wasn’t_ a fight, I _swear_. It was just an argument. And we’re good now.” 

“Right, yeah, that’s…” Bucky nods. He hadn’t meant to upset him. “That’s what I meant. Don’t worry, Steve. You’re not in trouble.”

“Oh. Right.” Steve rubs his eyes. Looks incredibly tired. “What were you saying?”

He has to ask this next question. It’s totally ridiculous and probably pointless, but it’s part of the job description. 

“Did you employ any of the techniques that we’ve discussed here?”

The question only makes Steve snort and roll both his eyes and his head back. He even gives Bucky quite the dramatic groan. 

“Sure, Buck. We sat around a campfire and had a heart-to-heart before sing _Kumbaya_. It was great.” 

Which makes Bucky let loose a wild laugh. It hits him so hard he’s not sure if he should be grabbing his sides or clapping a hand over his mouth to quiet himself. It must be contagious, too, since Steve starts laughing just as hard and they start getting looks from people sitting at other tables.

While Steve doesn't seem too concerned about his laughter bothering anyone, Bucky _does_ attempt to convey some sort of an apology for any bit of disruption they're causing. They even receive shushes from one of the librarians. 

“Well.” Bucky needs another second to catch his breath. “I’m gonna put down that you had a conflict and you resolved it by opening a line of dialogue instead of resorting to violence. Tony’ll back your story. Mr. Pierce can’t do anything about you if you’re learning to be different-- okay, wait.” Bucky pauses and holds his pen out to him. “I didn’t mean it like that.” Steve’s eyebrows flick up. “I meant… uh, _you_ don’t need to change, Steve.” 

Bucky’s starting to see that now. Steve isn’t all that different from who he used to be all those years ago. Yes, he isn’t shy about making his opinion known. No, he doesn’t really care about who he pisses off--faculty and staff included. But he isn’t the one starting fights like Bucky thought. Steve just still has those same core values that he used to have and he sticks to them even if that means getting the shit kicked out of him for speaking up when it matters over and over again. And he’s been branded a troublemaker because of it. Even Bucky’s guilty of buying into the label. 

“Listen, Steve,” Bucky says. “I think I kinda owe you an apology…”

But Steve shakes his head before Bucky can explain what he means by that.

“‘S’not like I’ve been all peachy keen to you, Buck,” he replies. “Haven’t exactly given you a reason to think much of me. And I’m sorry about that.” Steve’s eyes fall again. “I’m really sorry.” 

A small part of Bucky wonders if maybe he’s dreaming. If he’s not, then Steve just apologized for his behavior over the last few years. There’s still one thing Bucky doesn’t understand. Well, plenty of things, but at the moment one stands out above all others.

“Why do you hate me, Steve?”

The way Steve glances up at him, Bucky wonders if maybe he’s imagined all these years. The distance between them. The way Steve’s ignored him. The anger. But Steve looks up at him now as though he’s shocked by that question. 

“No.” Steve shakes his head and staggers over his next breath. “I don’t… I don’t hate you, Bucky. I never…”

He can’t seem to finish that one. For a second, it looks like he might actually cry, but he swallows roughly and forces any tears back as if refusing to release them here in front of Bucky.

“Then… why…?”

Steve lets out a heavy breath. “I dunno. I guess it was… easier. To be mad instead of… I just… fuck, Bucky, I’m sorry.”

There must be more to it than that. Steve is still keeping things from him, but then, Bucky figures he can’t get everything at once. This is strides better than what he knew before. 

“Well… maybe we can move on from it.” Bucky holds a hand out. “Friends?”

Steve looks at the offered hand and seems to mull over the idea of being friends with Bucky again. The longer Bucky holds his hand there, the more foolish he feels. But then Steve gives him a crooked grin and places his hand in his and shakes. 

“How ‘bout a truce for now?” he suggests. “We’ll work on the whole friends thing.”

Bucky scoffs. “Do people in a truce usually come to each other’s important basketball games?” 

A smirk plays on Steve’s mouth. He shrugs. “It’s only fair. You were watching me paint.”

The blush that hits Bucky flushes all the way up to his ears and is so hot he’s certain that steam must be coming off his head. It also, and this part is much more embarrassing, is so obvious that Steve bursts out laughing. 

“Why, Bucky Barnes,” Steve says, “I do believe you are blushing.”

“Shut up, Steve,” Bucky grumbles into his palms, which, of course, only spurs Steve on even more. “Oh, my _god_.” 

When Bucky peeks over the tops of his fingers, he finds Steve’s usually pale cheeks bright red from laughing and his tongue between his teeth. Bucky groans and hides his face again. 

“If you boys don’t quiet down,” the librarian says from across the room, “you’re going to have to _leave_.”

Which is probably for the best anyway. They’re just at the half hour mark and Bucky needs to get to practice. Coach Summers had given him something of a problem about being late to practice this week. The team did make it into the playoffs, after all. He figured someone else could fill in for Bucky for now. But Bucky couldn’t do that to Steve. He’d made a commitment to him. 

Besides which, Bucky has found himself starting to look forward to their weekly meetings. If anything, Steve is brutally honest. He’s horsed around with Bucky just like when they were kids. He’s called a truce between them. That, Bucky thinks, is some sort of bridge between whatever they are now to becoming friends again. 

When they reach the library doors today, they don’t part ways -- Bucky heading for the gym, Steve heading for the exit -- like they normally do. Instead, Steve turns on his heels and tags along with Bucky. 

“So, I don’t know much about basketball,” he says. “But I think you did pretty good on Saturday.”

Bucky smiles. “Thanks, Steve.”

“And, like, what does this mean now? Sure, you’re in the playoffs, but what happens next?”

Bucky goes on to explain that if they win the playoffs of their district, they play against the team that won the playoffs of another district for the championship. Quite exciting stuff. 

“Hm.” Steve nods along like he’s really interested, but Bucky seriously doubts he is. “That’s cool. Really. But, I, uh, I guess it means you’ll be pretty busy. Between that and the other stuff that you do.”

“Uh.” Bucky scratches the back of his head. They’ve just reached the locker room and stand right outside it. “I’m busier on some days than others. Why?”

“No, it’s nothing. Or, just. You’re smart, right?”

Eyebrows lifting, Bucky fights back the urge to remind Steve that he’s their class’s valedictorian. Which, sorta answers the question. 

“Well, I mean--”

“Wait, don’t answer that, of course you’re smart.” Steve scoffs and pokes Bucky in the chest. “But, uh, I’ve been having some trouble in my… my, um…” He pauses and for a second Bucky wonders if Steve’s actually forgotten what class he’s having trouble with. “Math! My math class. So, I was thinking, maybe, like, once a week or so you wouldn’t mind tutoring me?” 

To be honest, Steve’s request is quite the last thing Bucky’s expected to get from him. One thing he knows hasn’t changed is that stubborn desire to do everything on his own. But not only has Steve just admitted that he’s having trouble in a class, he’s actually asked for Bucky with help in it. Today is just a day of high school miracles. 

If Bucky gets to tutor Steve as well as be his peer mediator, that gives them even _more_ time to see each other. Which is totally not the point, of course, and Bucky has no idea why _that_ excites him, he’s gonna have to take some private time to reexamine that one later. Right now, Steve is still there with him, just outside the locker room, waiting for an answer to his very innocent question. 

“Uh. Um. Yeah. I… sure.” Bucky nods, readjusts the strap of his backpack, and shifts his weight all in one second. “Yeah, that’s… that’s cool. I can help with that.” 

Steve lights up with this adorable smile and, oh. Oh, that’s just not fair. Bucky’s completely unprepared for how helpless he is when Steve looks at him that way and he nearly staggers back.

“Yeah?” That smile still hasn’t left his face. “Awesome! When’s good for you? I don’t wanna make you miss anything else so just say when and I’ll be there.”

A tremble flies through Bucky’s spine. This is ridiculous, but there’s some part of him that wants to ditch practice and go with Steve right now. But that… no. No, he can’t do that. He’s made obligations to other people. 

“I’m usually done around four or four-thirty. I can come by your place tomorrow by five if that works?” 

That suggestion, though, sees Steve’s face falling, that dazzling smile disappearing with it. His eyes -- a furrow deepening between them -- drop to his feet. He shakes his head.

“N-no.” Steve’s voice is hushed, almost as though worried someone might overhear them. “My place… you… you can’t come to my place.”

“Oh.” Bucky doesn’t want to give Steve any reason to feel uncomfortable. He’s come to him for help, which is a big deal for Steve. They’ve decided on a truce, whatever that means, but it’s lightyears better now than what it’s been. “Well, that’s okay, we can go someplace else. Uh, there’s the public library. Or my house, you wanna just come to my house?” 

Steve perks up again. He smiles, not the way he did before, but he is smiling again. 

“You still live--”

“Yeah. Same spot.” 

“That… that could work.” Steve seems to think on that some more, but Bucky can see that his mind is already made up on going to his house. “I could say hi to your folks and sisters. Meet that new one of yours. What was her name? Sophia?” 

“Sophia, yeah. I gotta warn you, though,” Bucky says. “It’s completely chaotic at my place.” 

Steve sighs and gives him this wistful sort of look. The kind that a misty rain gives to the glass of a windowpane when desperate to get inside. 

“I’m sure your place is great, Bucky,” he says, softly. “I can’t wait.” 

“Yeah, me neither.” And Bucky finds that that’s the truth. “So, then, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Flinging his hood up, Steve shoots finger guns at him the way Peter Quill sometimes does and then spins on his heels. Without another word, he gives a quick wave over his shoulder and leaves. 

As Bucky finally rushes into the locker room to get changed for practice, his heart pulses with the knowledge that Steve will be coming over to his place tomorrow. 

***

“So, let me get this straight,” Clint says the following afternoon after practice. “You’re telling us that you’re bailin’ on Taco Tuesday to _tutor_ Steve Rogers?”

“How,” Natasha goes on, “and I mean this in the nicest way possible, _how_ the hell did that happen?”

Taco Tuesday is a tradition that dates back all the way to last year. When this really great Mexican place opened up just one block from the school and offered two tacos for the price of one on Tuesdays. The three of them have been going almost every Tuesday since. The only reason they’ve ever missed have been weather-related or illnesses or family obligations. Bucky had to give them the real reason this time. Especially because Bucky forgot to mention it this morning. 

“I know, I know.” Bucky pretends to sigh. “But he asked for my help and what was I supposed to do?”

“Well, yeah, duh,” Clint replies with an obvious bobbing of his head. “I just… it’s… just a little… I mean…”

“I think what Clint is trying to say is,” Natasha attempts at translating, “is that Steve Rogers asking you for help for, well, _anything_ really is a bit out of the blue.” 

Steve asking for help at _all_ is a bit out of the blue. They probably wouldn’t remember that about him, though, and over these past few weeks, Bucky’s learned that that’s a part of Steve that hasn’t changed one bit. When Steve’s determined to do something on his own, he will keep pushing until his last breath before finally asking for help. 

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky agrees. “But he asked and I said yes.”

Clint takes a bite of the shiny green apple he’s been tossing back and forth between both hands. Chews only a bit before asking his next question. 

“Weren’t you two, like, really chummy back in the day?”

Some of what’s in Clint’s mouth sprays out of it. Both Bucky and Natasha scream, dramatically and playfully overreacting, and demand that he should _say it, not spray it_. 

“Yeah, they were,” Natasha answers for Bucky. “He practically ditched us in the fifth grade for him.” 

“Hey, yeah!” Clint exclaims and points an angry finger at Bucky. The finger laughs when Bucky glances at it. “What was _that_ all about?”

“Nothing, obviously.” This one, Bucky fields on his own. “We couldn’t’ve been as close as I thought since he just moved away without telling me and then ignored me when he came back.”

He has no idea why this is taking up so much room inside his mind. Bucky just can’t get over it, no matter how hard he’s tried. Nothing could have prepared him for the total indifference Steve showed toward him when he returned. That very first day when Bucky sprinted to him in the crowded hallway, big grin on his face and a greeting just about to fall from his lips. If he remembers correctly, even his arms were stretched out for a hug. He didn’t care how different he looked. So he had a ton of piercings. So he had a ton of tattoos. That was Steve Rogers and all Bucky wanted to do was catch up with his best friend. 

Only Steve had different plans on that day -- and every day that followed until Mr. Coulson paired them up in peer mediation -- and Bucky’s excited, _Steve!_ , went unheeded as the only bit of acknowledgment he received was a pissed off look. Then nothing. And more of nothing as the years went by. 

But neither Natasha nor Clint know about the peer mediation so they have no reason to know that he and Steve have formed something of a friendship again. Or a truce. Which Bucky is still trying to examine and at all different angles to figure out its actual meaning. Other than it’s typical usage, of course. 

“So, lemme just make sure I’m understanding correctly.” 

Clint bites down on the apple so he can speak with hands and then realizes that he needs his mouth to do the talking part. Apple still in his mouth, he sighs with a roll of his eyes before handing the fruit to Bucky. Bucky just takes it. An automatic reflex to being handed something. 

“You wanna try that again?” Natasha laughs. “This time without stuffing your face.” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Let’s concentrate on Bucky for a minute.” Their gazes both return to Bucky’s at the same time. “Steve Rogers needs help with something and out of _all_ the people in the school, or in our grade anyway, he asked _you_.” 

“Hey, I was just as surprised as you guys.” Sorta. Maybe a tad less. “But, he’s coming by after practice so we--”

“Whoa, whoa, pump the breaks there, kid,” Clint interrupts. “You’re doing this at your _house_?” 

Not sure what this sudden outburst is about, Bucky glances around the hall at the few people who haven’t left for the day yet. People who are staying even later than the team’s practice. A few of them stare in their direction. 

“Um, yeah?” Bucky shakes his head. “Is that a problem?” 

“No, not a problem,” Clint says. “Just…”

“Just, the idea of Steve going to your house is… a little weird,” Natasha explains. “Not in a bad way. Just… weird.”

Bucky’s chest fills with a million questions. They climb all over each other in a desperate attempt to be the first ones out of his mouth.

“Why?” Bucky questions. “He used to come over all the time. Or I went to his place. Or…”

“Yeah, but, that was then and this is now.” Natasha shrugs a shoulder. “He’s different.” Only not so much, really. “You’re different. I think it’d be really interesting to be a fly on the wall to watch you two together again.” 

Those questions are still there. Gathering together and pulling into a tight knot. Might as well just add a bow to make it look nice that way Bucky can just go on pretending everything is fine. 

“There’s nothing wrong with it, James,” Natasha answers his unspoken concerns. “We didn’t mean it like that.” 

“Oh, hell no,” Clint agrees. “It’s cool that you’re helping him out. It’s just been a while since you two were Steve _and_ Bucky. Y’know, a twofer. Be neat to see if it could happen again. After all these years.” He runs his hand through the air like he’s making a rainbow. “Reunited.” 

“Okay, first of all,” Bucky says, with an added shove to Clint’s shoulder, “shut up. We’re not Romeo and Juliet.” 

“Wouldn’t end well if you were,” Natasha says. “For either of you.” 

Bucky snorts. “We aren’t lovers.” The word sets fire to Bucky’s mouth. “I mean weren’t. We weren’t lovers.” 

Rolling her eyes, Natasha flicks him in the side before looping their arms.

"Of course not, you were children."

"Would be something though, huh?" Clint asks. "Some kind of epic love story. The boy next door and his best friend finally coming together after all these years. Talk about a childhood sweethearts fairytale."

Except that could never happen. Even if Bucky actually wanted Steve that way, which he doesn’t, Steve would never go for him. Bucky’s totally not his type. Steve is… well, he. Huh. Actually, Bucky isn’t sure what Steve’s type is. But it certainly can’t be Bucky. Not the jock in him. Not the student council member in him. Certainly not the peer mediator in him. Not the writer in him. Okay, maybe the writer part. Which didn’t matter since there was no longer a writer in him. 

None of that mattered anyway, though, since the two of them weren’t even a couple. They weren’t even friends. They were a truce. 

“That would be romantic,” Natasha says. “Childhood sweethearts.” 

Bucky smiles at her. It isn’t all that often that Natasha will call something romantic. She doesn’t exactly wear her heart on her sleeve. Knowing that he’s one of the few she’ll show her vulnerable side to makes him feel incredibly wonderful. She and Steve have that in common, now that Bucky thinks about it. 

“Eh.” Clint pats them both on the shoulders. “Not all that different than you two.” 

“How touching,” Natasha replies before Bucky has a chance to react. “But there are lots of ways to love someone. We can still be childhood sweethearts even if we stopped dating.” 

Seriously, Bucky can’t ask for a better fake girlfriend. For a better friend. Bucky’s not sure where he’d be without her help all these years. Same with Clint. These two really bring out the best in him. 

Without thinking, Bucky lunges forward to throw his arms around them both. It’s a little difficult because of their height differences, but he manages. 

“I’m gonna miss you guys next year,” he murmurs. “Not school. But definitely this.” 

“Yeah right.” Clint scoffs as he maintains the group hug. “If you don’t ditch us for Steve.” 

Groaning, Bucky pulls away and rolls his eyes. “Thanks for ruining the moment, dude.” 

“Hey, what’m I here for if not for ruining moments?”

Both Bucky and Natasha give him flicks at almost the same time. 

“You _have_ your moments, too,” Natasha says. “So shut up.” 

Clint stands up tall and proud, flashing them a dopey grin. He then sighs and shrugs before offering Natasha his arm. 

“Well, if you’re ditching us,” he says as they exit the school together, “I guess I can escort this lovely lady to stuff our faces with tacos for Taco Tuesday all by myself.”

“ _Lady_?” Bucky responds, his eyebrows lifting with sarcasm. 

They lower immediately when Natasha’s own eyebrows shoot up.

“Fuck right a lady.” She flings her scarf around her neck, the end of it almost slapping Bucky in the face. “And don’t you forget it.” 

“As if I could!” Bucky shouts over his shoulder as he heads for home in the opposite direction. 

He hears laughs and possibly another response to his remark, but he doesn’t catch it. It’s not a long walk home, but that short amount of time is definitely long enough to get Bucky’s mind stirring again. 

His whole body tingles. With what, though, is the question that Bucky just can’t seem to figure out the answer to. There’s no reason to be nervous. He’s already spent time with Steve and he’s just coming over to study today. There’s no reason to be excited either since Steve is only coming over to study. They’re not hanging out or anything. Even if they were, there’s still no reason to be nervous or excited. Or both. Or some irrational emotion between the two of them.

Still, every time Bucky thinks about Steve coming over his legs turn to jelly, his stomach tightens, and his heart begins to pound. Sure, he showered after practice but he’s sweating so much he’s probably close to dehydrating. 

When Bucky gets home, he attempts sneaking up to his room before anyone sees him, but unfortunately, his mother happens to walk into the living room just as he’s locking the door behind him. He hasn’t said anything about Steve coming over today. He’s not sure why. 

“Hey, hon,” she greets. “How was school?” 

“Um. Fine.” He shrugs. “Nothing changed but the weather.” 

One of her eyebrows lift. “Not really. Today is just about the same as yesterday.” 

“Mom,” Bucky sighs. “It’s just an expression.” 

“Well, you would know, Harvard Boy.” 

That painful knot in Bucky’s belly tugs tighter whenever she says things like that. Her and Dad have been pouring themselves into helping him for his scholarship interviews, creating questions and going over strategies together. 

“Mom,” Bucky murmurs. “Could you not--”

“Hey, Winnie?” Bucky’s dad interrupts when he comes into the living room, too. “We have nothing scheduled on Thursday, do we?” 

He’s already on his phone, probably checking his calendar or emails for his own confirmation to his question. From out of her back pocket, Mom also starts checking. 

“Not that I see, why?” 

“Because one of the firm’s biggest clients is hosting an event and John wants to know if we’re available to attend.” 

“Oh.” She nods. “Which one is John again?” 

“You know. He’s the…” He wobbles his hand back and forth. “Y’know.”

“Right, the gay one.”

The afternoon abruptly splits in half, leaving Bucky unsteady and unbalanced. It’s incredibly hot in here. Stuffy. Bucky’s fairly sure this feeling is akin to being punched.

“Yeah. He’ll be there with his lover. Or partner. Or--”

“His _boyfriend_ , Dad.” Becky, who Bucky hadn’t even realized is on the couch, sighs. “It’s not that difficult.” 

Dad waves his hand over his shoulder. A gesture of both acknowledgment and disregard. He doesn’t comment on it, though, as they go on to discuss whether or not they should go to this thing. In the end, they agree to make an appearance and not stay late. 

When Dad leaves the room again, Mom returns her attention back to Bucky and gives him a soft smile. 

“Now, what were you saying?” 

Bucky fakes a smile in return. His limbs have turned to wet noodles. He’s not even sure how he’s still standing. There’s no reason to have such an intense reaction. It’s not as though his parents haven’t ever had a nearly identical conversation before in front of him. His dad has wondered about the sexual orientation of celebrities that just _have to gay_. His mother has laughed along. They’re also both supporters of same-sex marriage and never question why there’s a pride parade and don’t think anyone is trying to shove it in anyone’s face just because a couple of fictional characters happen to be queer. Everything just makes Bucky’s head hurt. 

“N-nothing,” Bucky whispers. “Just sayin’ that school was good.” 

“Oh. Okay, well.” She tousles his hair. “We’re having meatloaf for dinner.”

“‘Kay.” 

Instead of lingering there, and letting himself feel awkward in his own home, Bucky goes up to his room and throws himself on the bed, face first. If he had a moment to himself, he might shove his face into his pillow and scream. Only he’s not by himself. He’s been followed. 

“I fucking _hate_ it when they do that.” 

“Sure, Beck,” Bucky grumbles into his blanket. “Come on in.” 

She’s already sitting down on the corner of the bed. Bucky can feel her moving around on it like she can’t sit still. 

“Well, doesn’t it piss you off, too?” 

Sighing, Bucky lifts his head to look at her. “I’m gonna need you to be more specific than that.” 

“Mom and Dad,” she mutters through her teeth. “When they’re all ‘Oh, right, the _gay_ one’ or ‘the _gays_ ’. Ugh, it just makes me so _mad_.” 

Rolling over, Bucky pushes himself onto his elbows and considers this for a moment. No one’s ever complained about them before. Until right now, he had no idea it bothered anyone other than him. 

“I don’t… I don’t think they mean anything by it,” he replies. “It’s just…”

“I _know_ they don’t mean anything by it, that’s what makes it even _more_ frustrating.” This time, she throws herself down and ends up with her head by his arm. She needs to look at him upside down to see him. “I mean, what if you or one of the girls were gay?” Right. Looks like everyone is in the mood to punch him right in the gut today. “How would that make you feel? Like, you’d never wanna tell them. I know _I_ wouldn’t.”

Glands swelling, Bucky tries to swallow the knife that’s gotten lodged right in his throat. It hurts. If he gets it down, though, it’ll probably only make his stomach hurt more. 

“You don’t… you don’t think they’d be okay with it?” 

She tilts her head back to get a better look at him. “What?” 

“If one of us was, y’know....” Bucky doesn’t finish the sentence. “You think they’d be mad?”

“Oh, god, no. No, not at all, but it’d be really hard to trust that, wouldn’t it?” She huffs and stares up at the ceiling. “I swear, if I ever have kids, I’m doing _everything_ I can to make sure they _know_ that it would never matter.”

That puts a smile on Bucky’s face. A real one this time. At least he knows he’s got one ally at home. He can reluctantly admit that his little sister is kind of cool. 

“Hey,” he murmurs. “In case I haven’t said it in a while, and I’m sure I haven’t which means I won’t for a while again, you’re pretty neat for a pain in the ass little sister.” 

Becky heaves upright with a scoff and a shake of her head. “Right. And you’re my favorite brother.” 

About to say something back to her, Bucky opens his mouth only to choke back the words when he hears the doorbell ringing. He stands so fast he gets a head rush. 

“I got that!” he exclaims and just manages to catch himself from skipping down the stairs. “I got it, I got it!” 

There’s this ridiculous smile on Bucky’s face when he opens the door. It gets even bigger when he sees Steve standing outside. For just one heartbeat, Bucky can picture that little ten-year-old on the other side of his door when he answered it. All bundled up. Notebook clutched to his chest. Big glasses on his face. 

Steve’s not all bundled up right now. He probably should be since it’s the end of February and anyone not dressed properly in the middle of winter can get sick. He doesn’t have a notebook in his hands, but there is a bookbag slung over his shoulder. Those glasses make his blue eyes bright as summer. 

“Hey,” he greets. “You made it.” 

“Well, duh.” Steve snickers. “I’m here for your help, remember?” 

Bucky nods and hurries to get him inside so they’re not standing there in the cold air anymore. Once again, as soon as he’s locking the door, his mother appears. 

“Bucky, who’s at the-- oh.” She freezes when she sees that Bucky’s let someone in. Steve smiles at her. Polite. Respectful. Maybe even a little shy. “Uh, Bucky, you gonna introduce us?”

Taking a look from her back to Steve, Bucky’s not really that surprised she doesn’t realize who this is. Steve’s appearance has changed drastically since the last time she saw him. He’s not exactly the type of person that she’s ever seen him with either. 

When she says it, though, Steve takes off his knitted cap and runs his fingers through his hair as if trying to neaten it. Doesn’t help much.

“Mom, you remember Steve, don’t you?” 

Steve, still smiling, lifts his hand to wave his fingers while being stared at like he’s an intruder ready to rob her homes of riches and gold. 

“Steve?” She shakes her head. “I don’t--”

“I was smaller,” Steve says, holding his hand about waist high. “Sick a lot.” 

Face lighting up with recognition, Mom’s eyes explode with memories as she looks between the two of them. 

“Oh, my goodness, Steve Rogers? _You’re_ Sarah’s boy?” 

Bucky sucks in a hard breath, not sure how Steve’ll react to that. But he simply pauses, soft smile on his face that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and nods. 

“Yeah. That’s me.” 

“Wow, it’s…” She inspects him for just a second before forcing a grin. “It’s been so long since you’ve been here; I didn’t even recognize you.” Her eyes scan over Steve again. The look on her face is one Bucky recognizes. She’s not so sure how she feels about this brand new Steve Rogers in her home. “Just-- just look at you. All… grown up now.” 

Steve barks a tiny laugh. “Well, I dunno about the grown part, but I did get a little taller.” 

That makes a faint grin touch her mouth, but Bucky can see what she’s not saying. Her eyes are screaming about the piercings in Steve’s ears and face. The messy hair and cap he only removed when she appeared. Those black skinny jeans and beat-up white sneakers with red laces.

Bucky clears his throat. Says, “Um, Mom, me and Steve are gonna study. So…” 

“Oh, right.” Eyes still on Steve, she nods once. “Okay. Don’t let me stop you.”

With one last -- bordering on long -- look over Steve, she finally offers him a more believable and genuine smile before leaving the room. Not taking all the discomfort and awkwardness with her, unfortunately. Bucky pinches between his eyes. 

“I- I’m sorry,” he tries to say. “I dunno what…”

“Nah, it’s okay.” Steve waves it off even though he hasn’t lifted his gaze again. “I’m used to it.” 

Bucky’s heart trembles at those words. No one should be used to the way his mother just looked at Steve. With doubt and mistrust. All because he has the nerve to look different than what people are used to. He can’t imagine what she would think if she sees all his tattoos. Steve would have been even less received, Bucky’s sure of that much. 

“Yeah, but--”

Steve holds a hand out to stop him. “The more you talk about it, the more awkward it is. Can we just, y’know?”

“Right!” Bucky doesn’t mean to say that so loud. He clears his throat and lowers his voice. “Uh, c’mon.” 

Pointing up, Steve gets the idea -- Bucky’s room hasn’t moved since they were little anyway -- and they start up the stairs. Right when they get there, though, Steve doesn’t turn the right way to get to Bucky’s room. Instead, he points down the hallway.

“Who’s that?”

Bucky isn’t sure what he means by that one. He doesn’t hear anything. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just his noisy sisters. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Which sisters are those?”

Oh. That is who he meant. 

“Um, well.” Bucky looks back towards his room again to see Becky standing in the doorway. He points. “There’s Becky.” There’s definitely more than one sister down the hall. “And that’s probably the other three. Beck, you remember Steve, right?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so.” She gestures to Steve with an actual smile. “We still go to school together, right?”

“You had an art class with Mr. Rasputin.” Steve’s not asking. He says this with the sheer confidence of being correct. “You had trouble with the pine needles on your tree.” 

Becky’s face lights up with actual recognition as she points at him with a big grin on her face. She clicks her fingers. Nods. 

“That’s _right_! You helped me with it! You know that painting’s _still_ in the Freshman Hall showcase?” 

“I did know that,” Steve answers with an excited smile. “It came out great.” 

A blush touches Becky’s cheeks and Bucky almost laughs when she ducks her head down. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think that she had a crush on Steve. 

“Thanks. That’s only cause you helped.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Steve tells her. “It was great before I came along. I just gave you some pointers.” 

When she nibbles on her lip and doesn’t answer beyond brushing her hair behind her ear, Bucky clears his throat and tugs on Steve’s sleeve to get him to follow him into his bedroom. But Steve pulls back. Doesn’t go with him. 

“What’re you…”

Steve has a little pout on his face--his lip pushed out slightly. Before Bucky can question what’s happening, Steve jerks his thumb over his shoulder. Points back down to the other end of the hall. Bucky sighs. If he understands, Steve wants to go back the other way so he can meet the rest of his sisters. Or say hello to Nicole and Lauren and be introduced to Sophia. 

“All right, all right.” Ugh, if he’s already giving into that face who knows how quickly Steve’ll have him wrapped around his finger. “C’mon.” 

That sees Steve gives this little hop and a tiny clap of his hands, as though going to see Bucky’s sisters is the highlight of tonight. Big, showy grin on his face, he gets out a soft, “Yay!” while following Bucky down the hall. 

They first stop at the twins’ bedroom. They’re probably supposed to be doing homework or something since the second they see someone at the door they each throw themselves at their desks. From the looks of it, it’s more likely they were painting and coloring. They were about three the last time Steve saw them so Steve dramatically flings his hand over his heart as he comments on how big they’ve gotten. Neither of them remembers him, which isn’t all that unusual, and Steve obviously takes no offense. 

Next stop is Sophia’s room and, regardless of her being the youngest, she’s actually the one making the most noise. At the moment, she’s running around her room, climbing over her bed and under her chair and around her toy chest, with a towel around her shoulders, a crown on her hair, and rain boots on her feet. She shouting things to her toys as she does it all. Something about nobody worrying and she’ll get them all and asking if anyone is hurt. 

When she notices that she’s being watched, though, Sophia halts in her spot right on the other side of her bed and gives Bucky an angry look. Hands at her hips, she cocks her head to the side and asks, quite pointedly, what he wants. From behind him, Steve stifles a laugh. Bucky shoots him a look which Steve replies to by holding his palms out to him. 

“Sophia, this is Steve,” Bucky introduces. “He’s a friend from school. Steve, this is Sophia.” 

This, however, must not be correct, since the second Bucky says her name, Sophia stomps her foot and looks completely outraged. 

“Um, ex _cuse_ me?” Toes tapping and hands at her hips, Sophia rolls her eyes with a huff. “That is _nots_ my name today!” 

“ _Okay_.” Bucky takes a second to look over her outfit. “Princess Sophia?” She sighs and shakes her head, obviously growing impatient with him. “Super Sophia?” She smiles this time, nodding to that, and pumps her fist up in the air like she means to fly away. “All right then, Steve, this is Super Sophia.” 

“ _Super_ Sophia?” Steve asks as he takes a step forward. “Does that mean you’re a superhero?”

“Uh-ha!” Sophia leaps back up onto her bed where a few stuffed animals are piled onto her pillow. “The Evil Mad Scientists--” She points to her dresser where there are a few Barbie Dolls dressed in lab coats. “--are going to released poisonouses gas on the magic zoo aminals!” 

“Oh no!” Steve exclaims and Bucky nearly topples over when he hops into the room with her. “And are you their only hope?” She nods and Steve steps into the room completely so he can stand up straight and salute her. “Super Sophia, it would be my _honor_ to be your super sidekick!” 

And just like that, Bucky loses Steve to Sophia’s wild imagination. All he can do is stand there watching as Steve pretends to fly her around and follows her this way and that while pretending to save all the stuffed animals. At some point during their game, Bucky’s pretty sure that poisonous gas Sophia spoke of is released since Steve pretends like he’s gagging and Sophia holds her breath. 

Somehow, and Bucky’s really, _really_ not sure how, they save all the animals, but it’s not without loss. Steve, of all people, falls victim to one of the evil Barbie Dolls, falling to the floor and begging Sophia to go on doing hero work without him. 

“Yeah, okay.” Bucky pushes off the door frame and makes his way into the room. As cute as it’s been watching them play, Steve did come here for tutoring. “I’m gonna have to steal your sidekick from you now.” 

They both gasp at the same time. Bucky cutting their game short must be the worst news they’ve ever gotten. For Sophia, Bucky can buy that. Not so much for Steve, even if he does do a really good job of acting like it. 

“No!” he exclaims and keeps himself on the floor where he’d been sacrificed. “Super Sophia, help me!” 

Sophia jumps between them, hands balled into fists and fierce expression on her face. The best she can get, anyway. Which is a lot for a five-year-old. 

“You’ll never get him, Wicked Big Brother!” 

Sucking in a deep breath, Bucky nods and then tosses her onto her bed. She might screech and yelp, but she’s also giggling her head off when she lands among pillows and toys and blankets. Before she can pick herself up, Bucky grabs Steve by the ankle and starts dragging him out of the room. 

“Wha- hey! Bucky!” Steve starts laughing so hard his face turns bright red. “Okay, okay! I surrender! The Wicked Big Brother wins!” 

While Bucky would much rather Steve _not_ refer to him as a brother of any kind, he’s still sorta thrilled that he’s playing with him like this. Especially because he grabbed his foot like this on impulse. Just something he’d’ve done when they were younger. And Steve hasn’t pulled away or clammed up on him. Bucky holds back a smile. 

“Sorry, Sidekick Steve,” Bucky teases. “You left me no choice.” 

Steve pretends to sob as he rises to his feet on his own. He's still giving Bucky that pouty look when he stands but this time Bucky shakes his head. Points expectantly to his bedroom. Steve hangs his head, biting back a grin, and goes that way. 

Since he gets there first, he plops down on Bucky’s bed and kicks his shoes off, both of them landing with a little thud on the carpet. He pulls his legs up and crosses them into a pretzel. Makes himself nice and comfortable as if he’s been coming here every day for years. 

“I like what you’ve done with the place,” Steve says. “This new color is really nice.” If this were a few weeks ago, Bucky might think Steve’s comment was some smart ass remark. Now, he’s not so sure. He might actually be serious and really complimenting the light gray walls. “And your bed is comfy. Nice upgrade from your race car bed.” 

Bucky clicks his tongue. “Hey, you loved my race car bed.” 

“I know.” Steve grins. “It had a steering wheel. We used to drive across the country in that thing.” Yes, that is one of the games they used to play. Steve liked to honk the little horn. “But this one?” He bounced a little on the mattress. “Comfy.” 

“Okay. I mean, I agree, but.” Bucky scratches the back of his head. “You didn’t think my room would be just like it was the last time you were here, did you? I mean, is yours the same?”

Eyes lowering, Steve sort of chuckles with a shake of his head. “No. It’s definitely not. But you still have some of the old stuff.” He points to the wall by Bucky’s desk. “You still got the corkboard. _And_ the time-out chair.” 

In the corner of the room there’s a rocking chair with a pile of clothes on it. Bucky doesn’t sit on it anymore. He never really did. The chair is from when he was a baby. When his mother rocked him to sleep. It’s just always stayed here. Back when he and Steve used to see each other all the time, they used it as the “time-out chair”, meant for either one of them to sit in when they accidentally said something to upset the other or made a horrible joke or did something too silly to be taken seriously. 

Bucky hasn’t thought of that in a while. How either he or Steve would sit there, silently until their so-called “time-out” ended. Steve remembering their joke makes Bucky smile. 

“Yeah, it’s, uh, it’s still there. Good spot for my clean laundry even though my mom bugs me about not putting them in my drawers.” 

“Well, you better behave,” Steve says. “Or you just might end up sitting there.”

Mouth dropping open, Bucky scoffs. “ _Me_? Why do you assume that it’s _me_ who’s gonna end up in a time-out?” 

“Who knows?” Steve falls back onto the bed now, letting his legs hang off of it. “You used to sit in it all the time.” 

“No, I did not, _you_ did!”

Steve doesn’t answer that with anything other than a smirk. He pushes himself up on his elbows and lets his head roll to the side. 

“So, are we gonna do this or what?” he asks. “Cause you’re totally wasting valuable learning time just standing there staring at this fine piece of ass.”

Groaning, because holy crap Steve is impossible, Bucky pulls out the chair by his desk and sits there. Not that far from Steve, but he’s not so sure about sitting on the bed with him. Steve just looks so cozy and _right_ sitting there that a part of Bucky never wants him to leave. 

“Right. Um. So.” Bucky rubs his eyes. He has no idea why it’s so difficult to just sit and talk to Steve sometimes. There’s just something about him that makes butterflies in his belly have a grand time. “What is it you’re having trouble with?”

Steve sits up again and reaches down for the bookbag he dropped on the floor at the side of Bucky’s bed. He opens it. Pulls out a notebook and hands that to Bucky. He flips through it. Goes over the more recent notes. Steve’s good. Knows what he’s doing. It’s just the last few lessons. Even there, he’s getting most of the work correct, he just seems to stop part way through, as if he’s suddenly lost confidence in his work. 

“Okay, c’mere.” Bucky puts the book at the corner of the bed and Steve scooches closer to see. “You’re using the right formulas here, but you stop. Do you forget the rest of it or do you just think you’re doing it wrong?”

“Oh, I, uh. I kinda… forget?” Steve shakes his head. “Or, no, it’s the other one. I don’t think it’s right.”

Well, that didn’t sound like the most confident answer. Maybe Steve’s not exactly sure what’s tricking him up on the problems. Bucky turns to a clean page in the notebook and scribbles down a problem for them to work on together. 

“‘Kay, so, let’s do this one together first.” 

They work that way for a little while. Together, going over trigonometry equations, Steve starts to pick up on solving them better on his own. Unlike their peer mediation meetings, Steve is receptive to suggestions and open about telling Bucky what he doesn’t understand. But he’s still smart as a whip and learns fast. Bucky gives him mnemonic devices on how to remember formulas and how to keep dissecting a problem when he gets stuck. 

They’re so immersed in the studying that Bucky doesn’t even hear the knock on the door the first two times. Neither does Steve. But Becky’s there and they only notice her when she knocks harder and finally says something. 

“Hello? Anyone in here?” 

Both of them look up at the same time to see Becky staring at them with her hands on her hips. She shakes her head.

“What do you want?” Bucky asks. “We’re studying.”

“Yeah, but it’s time for dinner.” 

“Oh.”

Really? Have he and Steve seriously been up in his room long enough for dinner to be finished cooking? Unless Becky is lying, which would just be weird, that means they’ve probably been here for a little more than an hour already. 

“So…” Becky clicks her teeth. “Should I set another place? For Steve?”

Heart skipping a beat, Bucky looks at Steve as though he has the answer for that. He’d never thought of asking Steve to stay for dinner but now that it’s been brought to his attention, it’s exactly what he wants. 

“I…”

“It’s okay,” Steve says before Bucky can answer. “I don’t wanna impose.”

“You wouldn’t be!” It comes out fast and high-pitched, making it very hard to not blush. “You can stay.”

First pulling out his phone, Steve checks the time -- or maybe he’s looking for messages, but Bucky’s pretty sure it’s the former -- and then bites down on his lip. His gaze lifts back to Bucky.

“I…” He hesitates. “If you want me to. I can stay.” 

Becky takes that as her cue to leave, saying that she’ll set another plate out for him. 

“You’re sure it’s okay?” Steve asks. “Y’know, like, with your parents?” 

Bucky’s stomach twists. The last thing he wants is for Steve to feel uncomfortable here. Especially since he wants him to come back over. Something he didn’t even realize until Steve asks his question. 

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s…” Bucky sighs. “Don’t worry about it. My parents can be a little… old-fashioned, I guess.”

“So, I should, uh…” He tugs at the front of his hoodie. “Keep this on, huh?”

Because of the tattoos. Steve usually has it on, but he might be getting too warm. But that’s still not right and Bucky’s not gonna sit here letting Steve think he’s gotta hide himself. Bucky knows all too well how that feels. 

“No. Take it off if you’re hot. I like your tattoos.” 

He doesn’t mean to say that last part. Once it’s out of his mouth, though, he wants to clap his hand over it like he can somehow shove the words back in. It’s quiet for a second. Steve grins and then takes the hoodie off. He runs his fingers over the ink on his right arm. This is also the first time that Bucky’s been able to get such a good look at them. 

At that swirling galaxy that covers his shoulder. The compass pointing south. A shamrock with a ladybug on one of its leaves. An angel that has one black wing and one white wing. The words _I can do this all day_ on the inside of his wrist in the shape of the infinity symbol. So many different things that don’t clash but instead form a beautiful mural on his skin. 

“I like this one the best,” Bucky says, reaching for Steve’s wrist and touching the infinity symbol. “Does it mean something?” 

“Mm.” Steve takes his wrist back and runs his thumb over it. “Sorta. Just my way of reminding myself to always get back up and keep fighting no matter how bad things get.”

“Doesn’t seem like you really need a reminder.” When Steve flicks his gaze at him, Bucky is quick to add, “I mean that in a good way. You’re just one of the strongest people in the world.”

A soft smile touches Steve’s mouth. He looks at Bucky with stardust twinkling in his eyes. The dimple in his cheek sparkles in awe. 

“You think I’m strong?” 

“Of course I do, Steve,” Bucky murmurs. “I’ve always thought you were strong. I just misjudged you these past few years.” 

“Yeah,” Steve whispers, eyes focused on his lap. “That was kinda my fault, though.” 

Silence falls over them. A little awkward as Steve fiddles with his piercings and Bucky taps his fingers over his thigh. Bucky’s not quite sure where to go from here. He doesn’t even know how he’s gone from being hated by Steve to this place. 

“We should… probably get downstairs,” he says instead of asking Steve anything. “They’ll start calling us if we don’t.” 

“Right. Yeah, okay.” 

They leave everything out on Bucky’s bed and head down to the kitchen. Bucky can hear the commotion while they’re still on the stairs. He sighs. Steve smiles. 

Since they have a guest, the place settings have been shifted a bit so that Steve can sit next to Bucky. Having a guest doesn’t stop Lauren from accusing Nicole of hogging all the apple juice and Sophia from using her utensils as drum sticks and Becky talking loud enough over all of them. Dad talking to someone on his phone but trying to get off of it while Mom puts the meatloaf on the table along with a serving of mashed potatoes and green beans. Sophia is already saying she doesn’t like the green beans. Nicole is asking where the butter is and Becky tells her to get up to get it herself. 

“Told you,” Bucky mutters to Steve, “it’s chaos.”

Steve doesn’t seem to think so. Or, if he does, he enjoys it. He’s watching the whole thing with this sweet smile on his face. Almost like the scene has captured his heart. 

“Hey, come on, slowpoke,” his mother says when she notices them standing there. “You don’t get in, you don’t eat.” 

“Sidekick Steve!” Sophia shouts when Steve joins them at the table. “You’re here!”

“Yup.” Steve gives her a high-five. “Gotta eat my vegetables so I can be as strong as Super Sophia one day.” 

“Are those _real_ tattoos?” Lauren asks. 

“Of course they’re real,” Becky answers for him. “You think he’d put _that_ many fake ones on?” 

“Yes, you do have a lot of tattoos.” That would be Mom as she cuts up a piece of meatloaf for Sophia. “How old are you?” 

Steve’s just been passed the potatoes. He takes a big scoop and then adds a little more. Just like he said to Sophia, he has a big pile of green beans, too. Bucky puts a slice of meatloaf on his plate for him and wants to crawl under the table once he realizes what his mother’s asked. 

“Um, I’ll be eighteen in July,” he answers, apprehension touching his voice. “I, uh, I got a late start when I was little because I had heart surgery, but then I skipped a grade. So… that’s why…”

“That’s why we’re both seniors,” Bucky finishes for him.

Steve nods in agreement. For a second, no one responds to that. Until Mom has more to add.

“So, seventeen and all those tattoos and piercings,” she says. “That’s… that’s something.” 

“ _Mom_ ,” Bucky mutters. 

“I’m not saying anything,” she replies. “It’s just a lot for someone still so young.” 

“This meatloaf is really, really good,” Steve says instead of responding to that. “Did you make it Mrs. Barnes?”

As if surprised by the sudden compliment, she doesn’t answer beyond a few blinks for a second or two. Once Steve’s question finally has a chance to settle, she smiles. An actual, real smile from her. 

“I did, Steve. Thank you. I’m glad you like it.” 

Shoveling more food in his mouth, Steve grins and goes on eating while conversations about everyone's day begin to go around the table. While they all talk, Steve just eats. With gusto. Just like he had that morning at the diner. Every now and then, his eyes close while he chews. Bucky wonders if he's trying to savor the taste. He can't imagine why. It's just meatloaf and as far as meatloaf goes his mother's is okay. 

"So, Steve," Mom says while she pours herself a second glass of wine. "It's been a very long time. Maybe I could give your mother a call so we moms can catch up, too."

Steve, who stopped mid-chew as soon as she mentioned his mother, pales and shakes his head.

"No. I, uh, I mean, you really can't."

Eyebrows shooting up, she shares a quick glance with Bucky's dad before looking at Steve again. 

"I can't?"

"N- well, it's just that… she's working the midnight shift at the hospital. So, it's just… her nights and days are reversed. Makes it hard to, y'know, talk to her."

"Oh. Well, I'll give you my cell number and you can pass that along to her. If she gets a minute, maybe we can chat."

"Sure." Steve goes back to concentrating on his food. "No problem."

While Steve pushes food around on his plate, but is clearly not ready to stop eating -- seriously, Bucky has no idea how he eats so much -- Bucky sees the look his parents share. Mom with her eyebrows lifted in that _way_ and Dad giving her that _shrug_ of his in response. Like they're both wildly baffled by Steve's entire personality or what the hell he's doing at their dinner table.

"Well, Steve." Great, evidently, now it's Dad's turn. "I'm sure Bucky's told you about Harvard." First smiling at Bucky -- and obviously seeing the dismay in his eyes --Steve nods and says nothing else about it. "What about you? Where do you think you're going next year?"

"Mm. Nowhere. Probably. College really isn't for me."

The way both stare at him now, eyes full of shock and appall, Bucky wishes he could just bury himself under a rock. Even Steve looks a little thrown by their reaction. 

It's his mother who responds first. First with a dismayed snicker. Then holding her palm out.

"What about your future?" she asks. "How are you going to have a future without college?"

"Mom," Bucky mutters. "Leave Steve alone."

“No, it’s okay.” Steve’s voice is low, but still holds that hint of confidence. “Actually, I think I might want to be a tattoo artist. I drew most of my own.” 

That answer, no matter how innocent it is, makes his mother almost choke on the sip of wine she’s just taken. The idea of being a tattoo artist, of course, must be unfathomable. A disgrace. Only something a lowlife loser would pick as their profession. 

“Uh, well.” Dad clears his throat. “You certainly have talent there.” 

“Thank you.” A blush whispers along Steve’s cheeks even though the compliment is forced. “I work hard on it.” 

“You should see his work,” Bucky says on Steve’s behalf. “The stuff he does in school. Steve’s amazing.” 

This compliment, which Bucky means with his whole heart, makes Steve duck his head and bite down on his lip. 

“I dunno about amazing,” he murmurs. “Maybe awesome.” 

Bucky laughs. As does Becky. Lauren and Nicole do as well, but Bucky’s not exactly sure if they know what they’re laughing at. Which, of course, makes Sophia join in. The only ones who don’t see the same amount of humor in Steve’s joke are his parents. They, at the very least, give him smiles. 

Somehow, they get through the rest of the dinner without his parents insulting Steve any more than they already have. Steve must feel bad. Bucky can’t imagine what it would feel like to sit at someone’s dinner table only to have them judge him. And over what, really? A few piercings and tattoos? There’s just no need for it. 

After dinner, Mom brings out a cheesecake for anyone who would like dessert. At first, Steve politely declines. Bucky can’t blame him. Only, instead of accepting that, his mom puts a hand, gently, on Steve’s shoulder. 

“Please,” she says, softly. “Have a piece of cake, hon. Really. You’ll like it.” 

When Steve looks up at her, Bucky could swear he looks like he wants to cry. He takes the cake with a tiny grin turning up his lips and doesn’t talk the whole time he eats. Every last bite. 

“Ugh, I am _so_ sorry about that,” Bucky apologizes the second they get back to his room. “That was so embarrassing. They should’t’ve talked to you like that.” 

Back on Bucky’s bed, like it’s the spot exclusively meant for him, Steve shrugs it off like it was nothing. 

“Nah. Told you already. I’m used to it. Besides.” He pulls his legs up into a pretzel again. “They’re probably just concerned about their darling little boy hanging around with this riffraff.” 

“Then they shouldn’t have any worries about us hanging out.” 

Steve folds in a smile and cards his fingers through his hair. Strands of it slip between his fingers like lace. 

“You, uh, you think we’ll be hanging out more?”

Without looking back at him, Steve drums his fingers over Bucky's blanket. Each tap makes Bucky's heart pound a little harder. 

 

"Yeah," Steve whispers several agonizing moments later. "I'd like that."

"Maybe we could, I dunno." Bucky struggles with the words, so many of them piling up on his tongue at once that he's not sure which should be first. "Be friends, too?"

"Friends." Steve repeats it as though testing if he likes how it tastes in his mouth. "I, um." His gaze sweeps up and when it does, tears dance along those pretty, long lashes. "Friends. Yeah, I missed that." 

Hard lump in his throat, Bucky takes a chance by reaching out and putting his hand down on Steve’s knee. He probably shouldn’t. The last thing he needs is Steve getting the wrong message. He doesn’t want to push him away again either. But Steve doesn’t move. He even gives Bucky a shaky grin. 

“I missed you, too, Steve.” 

Wiping at his eyes, Steve sniffles and grabs the hoodie his discarded earlier. While he shoves his arms into the sleeves, he quickly gets his books and things back into his bookbag. 

“Uh, anyway,” he mutters, “I gotta go. Curfew’s nine on the dot so I can’t be late. Like…” Steve huffs an unamused laugh. “Not even a second late.” 

It’s almost eight-thirty. Bucky might not be sure where Steve lives now, but he can understand his need to leave if he wants to beat his curfew. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, though?” Bucky asks. “In school.”

Steve is on his feet now. All ready to go. Takes a second, but he does look back at Bucky and, it might be small and unsure, but he does manage another smile. He nods. 

“Yeah,” Steve murmurs. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Come on.” Bucky stands with him now. Even adds a clap on his shoulder. “I’ll walk you out.” 

Steve might say that’s not necessary, but Bucky’s not going to send him back down to the fray by himself. Sure, his mother may have eased up a bit at the end, but there’s no telling how she might bid him farewell. Bucky certainly doesn’t want Steve to leave here feeling any worse. 

Right before Bucky would shut the door behind him, Steve freezes. He looks over his shoulder like he wants to say something. If he does, Bucky never hears what it is. Steve just offers one last smile and heads on his way. 

Back in his room, Bucky collapses on his bed. Right where Steve had been sitting. The spot kinda smells like him. Other than a few snags here or there, having him over actually went pretty well. Even if Steve didn’t win over his parents, he certainly got Sophia’s approval. Best of all, Steve wants to be friends again. There’re still some gaps between them, like why the hell Steve would be sent to away or why he came back with such animosity toward Bucky, but they can work on that. 

They can. 

Bucky’s sure of it. 

Really. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I know that it might seem a little excessive that Bucky and his parents have been SO SUPER concerned about college since Bucky was about twelve, but this here is a pic from the 6th grade meeting I went to for my kid just a few days ago
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>  _college_ and _CAREER_ ready. That's one of their goals. To get them college and career ready. A bunch of eleven and twelve-year-olds. While some people are on board with this, it totally freaks me out the amount of pressure that is being put on students these days. Not to mention the fact that not everyone is college material/wants to attend.


	9. Band-aids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which meetings are held

The main office is pretty crowded for a Friday afternoon. Bucky figured making an appointment with Mr. Coulson at this time would be a lot easier than any other time. After all, he can’t imagine that anyone, not even faculty, wants to stay after school on a Friday. But, obviously, he’s made a slight miscalculation. So, now he’s waiting here instead of being at home practicing for his scholarship interview. Or maybe even spending a bit of time with his friends before it happens this Saturday. Like he needs anymore reason to be worried. 

Things haven’t exactly been normal lately. The furthest from, actually. 

For starters, he and his parents got into a fight last week after Steve left. A big one. 

“Well,” his mother said after Bucky saw Steve out, “that was certainly… interesting.” 

Bucky sighed as he turned to face her. She stood there, smirk on her face and arms over her chest. He had no idea what it meant. 

“What was?”

“Dinner.” She tapped her toes once. “I assume we won’t be seeing much of _him_ around, hm?”

His belly burned. The heat from it rose quite quickly throughout his body, curling around bones and seeping into muscles. 

“What makes you say that?”

“You don’t need someone like that to drag you down, James,” she said. “You’ve worked too hard to get where you are and you don’t want to see that go down in flames all because--”

“Because _what_ , Mom?” Bucky felt the words burst from his mouth. He needed to take in another breath before saying more. “Because Steve doesn’t fit into your little mold? Because he looks different?”

“N- Bucky, that’s not--”

“Just because someone is different doesn’t mean they’re _bad_ or _wrong_.” He started to tremble. Clenched his fists in some attempt to hold back his sudden anger. “They can… they can be _good_. And right. And just… you don’t know him!” True, but then, Bucky didn’t know much about him anymore either. “You’d turn him away just because he’s different?”

For a moment, his mother simple stared at him. Blinked. Even opened her mouth to respond without coming out with anything. 

“What’s going on in here?” That would be his dad, arriving just in time to make things worse. “Why is everyone yelling?” 

Not everyone. Just Bucky. 

His mother held her up her hand to him and shook her head. 

“No, no. No one’s yelling,” she told him. “Bucky’s just… a little passionate about something.” 

Bucky sighed at this. He wanted to be angry -- he _was_ angry -- and yet his mother downplayed the situation. Probably in his defense, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. He was allowed to be angry and to express it without fear of being reprimanded. He wasn’t so sure where the anger came from, but it showed up fast and hard and he couldn’t let it go. 

“She didn’t like Steve.”

She shook her head. “No, I didn’t say that.”

“But that’s what you mean.” Bucky huffed. “You don’t want me hanging around with him, because you don’t like him when you didn’t even give him a chance.” 

“Bucky.” His father’s voice remained even and calm. “It’s not that we don’t like him. He was perfectly fine.”

“Respectful.”

He nodded at what his mother added and went on. “We’re just concerned that if you get involved with someone headed in an entirely different direction than you, it could have a bad influence.”

“Why?” Bucky asked. “Why would you even think that? What did he do wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing,” his mother tried to assure him. “He’s just…”

“A little aimless,” Dad said. “He’s got no real direction and you do. _Good_ direction.”

“Jesus,” Bucky mumbled. “This is fucking ridiculous.” 

“Hey!” That did it. Pushed enough to snap back at him. His mother picked up with, “Don’t you talk to us that way!” 

“We’re trying to be patient,” Dad told him. “We’re trying to be understanding, but if you lash out at us…”

When Bucky sighed and rubbed between his eyes, he stopped and waited. Not that Bucky really had anything to say. He just didn’t want to listen anymore. 

“Fine, whatever,” he muttered. “I gotta finish homework.” 

He had no intention of going upstairs to actually do schoolwork. All he’d been interested in was getting the hell away from them. 

“Just a second, young man,” his mother said. “This _shouldn’t_ be over, but you’re getting a pass since you’ve been so busy.” 

Nodding, Bucky mumbled an _okay, thanks_ followed by an insincere apology before doing his very best not to stomp up every step on his way to his bedroom. Once there, he threw himself onto his bed, grabbed his pillow, and screamed into it. 

Things didn’t exactly improve after that. In fact, Bucky’s mostly been avoiding them since that night. Especially because Steve’s been over again since then. A few times. 

Whenever he’s there for tutoring -- and Steve is a great learner, sometimes Bucky wonders how he’s even helping him -- Steve politely declines staying for dinner. Bucky can’t blame him. His parents hadn’t exactly welcomed him with open arms that first time and even though they’ve been nicer to him since then, well, Bucky still can’t blame Steve for opting to stay in his bedroom any time he goes downstairs to eat. 

One evening, after Bucky rushed through the meal and hurried back upstairs, he found Steve sound asleep on his bed. He’d been curled up on his side with his head nuzzled into Bucky’s pillow. 

The sight of him made Bucky stop short. After skipping a beat, his heart sped up, pounding against his ribs as it tried to make sense of what it felt. Steve all snuggled up like that made him look so peaceful. Almost as though he hadn’t gotten to relax like that in years; hadn’t fallen into such a deep slumber. 

For a minute or two, Bucky could only watch him sleep. A smile inched across his face. He didn’t even know why he was smiling. It just felt like the right thing to do. Until he realized the smile was for how adorable he thought Steve looked sleeping in his bed. Once again, Bucky thought he looked adorable. This time, he didn’t quite know how to chase the thought away so he tucked it in a box in order to examine it later. 

Steve just looked so comfortable, so… _right_ where he was. Bucky even had the urge to cover him with a blanket. Which was probably crazy, but he didn’t want Steve to get cold and he thought Steve deserved the rest if he really needed it. So, he did just that. Bucky grabbed his old blanket from his closet -- gray with a big red star in the middle that his Nana made for him before he was born -- and gently placed it over Steve. 

Keeping in mind that Steve had a curfew, Bucky only let him sleep for another half an hour or so while he went over his things for his scholarship meeting. He felt horrible having to wake him. If it’d been up to him, he’d’ve let Steve stay there, in his bed, for the rest of the night. 

Alas, his parents would’ve had a field day if Bucky let that happen, so instead, he crouched at the side of the bed and gently shook Steve by the shoulder. 

“Steve,” he murmured. “Steve, you gotta wake up.” 

Steve’s eyes fluttered but didn’t open. A rough noise rumbled in the back of his throat. He licked his lips, biting down on one of those metal hopes through it. Watching that tongue run across his lips like that made Bucky wonder what his mouth might feel like against his. A thought that he shook away with a sudden gasp. 

He cleared his throat and tried again. 

“Steve. Wake up.”

That time, Steve’s eyes scrunched tighter and then opened. Dazed and unfocused. It took him a few seconds to catch sight of Bucky there. He squinted, probably because he’d taken off his glasses some time while Bucky’d been downstairs. 

Voice hoarse and gruff, Steve blinked and said, “Bucky?”

Bucky smiled. There was something sorta neat about Steve being able to make him out through his blurry, sleep-dazed vision. 

“Yeah, it’s me.” He brushed some hair away from Steve’s brow. Soft hair. He held back running his fingers through it because _that_ would be weird as fuck. “You fell asleep.” 

“Asleep?” 

Still groggy, Steve didn’t quite grasp what was happening around him. It was cute. Again. 

“Asleep. Yes.” Bucky snickered. “But it’s time to get up now.”

“Up?” Steve smacked his lips together and turned his head. “Up… yeah.” He rubbed at his eyes and moaned, softly. “Awake. I’m…” Eyes suddenly bugging, Steve shot up and off the bed. “Holy shit! No. Oh, no. No, no, no… _shit_!” 

“What…” 

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ me, this cannot be happening.” 

He ran around the room, shoving his things back into his bag while muttering to himself the whole time. 

“Steve!” Bucky exclaimed. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t be late. Oh, shit, I can’t…” Actual tears filled Steve’s eyes. “I can’t--”

“You’re not late, Steve!” Bucky shouted at him. Grabbed him by the shoulders, too, since his shouts failed to calm him down. “It’s just eight o’clock _now_.” 

Staring at him, Steve trembled--actually trembled--as Bucky’s words had a chance to sink in. Bucky visibly saw Steve’s body responding. His eyebrows pulled together. His shoulders lowered. His mouth closed. 

“It’s… it’s not nine?” he asked. 

“No. Look.” Bucky picked up his phone to show him. “See?” 

Eight oh three. It was just three minutes past eight and upon seeing this, Steve shuddered and smothered his face in his palms. 

“Okay?” Bucky asked, petting a hand over Steve’s head without thinking about it. “Better?” 

First taking in a deep breath, Steve nodded and shrugged away from Bucky’s touch. Not rough or even hurried. He just moved away.

“Yeah.” He nodded, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah. Okay. I, uh, I should go, though.” 

“Um, yeah, okay.” Bucky picked up his jacket for him. “You want me to walk you ho--”

“No.” The answer burst shot out of Steve’s mouth. “No, it’s… no. It’s fine. Thanks, though.” 

The way Steve answered that, rushed and hard and maybe even nervous, had Bucky reevaluating the things he could talk to Steve about and those he couldn’t. Definitely not his mom. Not about the reason he moved. And, added to that list, was wherever Steve lived now. For whatever reason, Steve obviously didn’t want Bucky to know where he lived. Bucky couldn’t think of any other reason for Steve’s response. 

“Okay.” Bucky handed him his jacket. “Would you… I dunno, text me when you get home?”

Steve had just put his glasses back on and gave him a funny look--eyebrows stitched and head cocked slightly. 

“Why?” 

“Oh.” Bucky’s entire face burned crimson. “I just… y’know.” Actually, he probably didn’t, since Bucky wasn’t even sure himself. “So I know you made it?” 

“Made it back?” Steve grinned and shrugged. “Okay. But I need your number.” 

Bucky’s belly fluttered pleasantly. They were about to exchange numbers. He wasn’t sure exactly why that excited him, but it did. Greatly. 

He said it out loud for Steve, who stored it first--labeling the contact info as _Sarge_ and stealing Bucky’s breath away--and then texted Bucky with a bunch of silly emojis. The poop emoji. A thumbs up. The smiley face sticking out its tongue. And the kissy face. _The kissy face_. Eye trained on that little face, a breath caught in Bucky’s throat.

“Did you get it?” Steve asked. “My text?” 

“What?” He’d been so focused on the emoji he barely even realized that Steve asked him a question. “Did I what?” 

Steve chuckled. “My text, dummy. Did you get it?”

“Oh! Yeah. Yeah, uh…” He quickly stored the contact and turned it over to show him. “See, Cap?” 

A smile pulled at his mouth. Pink even tickled his cheeks. Steve smothered a giggle with the back of his hand. 

“All right, I’m going now. I’ll text you when I get back.”

He did, too. Just like he promised. About twenty minutes later, Bucky’s phone buzzed with a message. 

**Cap: Safe and sound, Sarge!**

Bucky chuckled as he typed back a response.

**Sarge: See you tomorrow, punk.**

They’ve texted randomly since then. A few times. Nothing anything serious. Some teasing comments. Dumb jokes. A pic of Steve “napping” in science. 

Whenever Bucky’s phone goes off now, his heart leaps into his throat with the hope that it might be Steve. Bucky’s been doing his best to pretend that that rush means absolutely nothing. Which has been no easy task. Especially because Steve came to see him win the championship last weekend.

This time, Steve sat in the bleachers with Quill. They held up a sign that said: **Down with the umpires**. Because, of course, they’d have such a ridiculous sign. Bucky laughed every time he looked up at it. There’d been a pretty noticeable space between them and the people around them. Not everyone had the same sense of humor, apparently. It was a little distracting, though, when Bucky glanced up and caught Quill with his arm around Steve’s shoulder. Steve laughing like Quill’d just said the funniest thing in the world. 

“The _fuck_ , Barnes?!” Rumlow shouted at him when he didn’t tear his eyes off of them right away. “What the fuck are you looking at?” 

Bucky shook his head and tried to concentrate on the game. He couldn’t let whatever this weird feeling he got whenever he looked at Steve get in the way of them winning. He tried not to look at them. Didn’t work as well as he hoped. 

“Where’s your head at, bud?” Clint asked after the first quarter. “You good?”

First taking a chug of his water, Bucky nodded and wiped the back of his arm across his forehead. He needed to keep his head in the game better than this. 

“Yeah. Just have a lot on my mind,” he lied. Sorta. It wasn’t _not_ true. “But I’m here. Let’s do this.” 

They did, too. 

And this time, when everyone rushed the court to celebrate, Bucky’s eyes caught Steve’s first.

Pulled from his thoughts by a pair of hands covering his eyes, Bucky snaps up straight. When he hears a familiar giggle behind him, he scoffs.

“Hiya, jerk,” Steve greets, pulling his hands away and plopping down in the seat across from him. “What’chya up to?” 

“I’m meeting with Mr. Coulson,” Bucky answers and adds, “punk,” for good measure. 

The punk makes Steve grin as he pushes his chair back. He scratches his finger under his nose and purses his lips. Makes him look like he’s got some juicy gossip.

“I know,” he says. “I got a notice to come down after ninth _during_ ninth.” 

Which makes a lot of sense. Since the meeting is technically _about_ him, he should probably be in on it. Bucky wondered about that earlier in the week, but wasn’t sure if that’s how Mr. Coulson wanted it. Luckily, their assistant principal seems to be on top of things. Even if it’s something as ridiculous as the peer mediation program. 

“You know,” Bucky replies. “If you’re here for the meeting, you’re technically late.” 

Mouth dropping, Steve folds his arms over his chest and goes on to give Bucky a most scandalized look. 

“What’re gonna do?” he asks. “ _Tell_ on me?” 

“No.” Bucky rests his arms over the desk between them. “But I might make you sit in the time-out chair next time you’re over.” 

A blush kisses Steve’s cheeks. His mouth snaps closed now as he snickers and brushes his fingers through his hair. 

“Well.” He fights back a grin. “I guess I should watch myself then, huh? What’s the going time on the time-out chair these days?”

Thrilled that Steve has loosened up so much during the past few weeks that he’ll play along like this, Bucky holds back a laugh. Tries not to imagine running his fingers through Steve’s hair the way Steve does. He shakes his head. No need for such ridiculous thoughts. 

“At least five minutes.” 

“Mm.” Steve looks deep in thought. “I should be on my best behavior. I guess. I mean, I dunno, though; five minutes in silence should be considered cruel and unusual.” 

“Not if you’re me,” Bucky says. “Five minutes of silence means five minutes of peace.” 

Another outraged albeit playful expression crosses Steve’s face. Before he has a chance to respond to that, the door to Mr. Coulson’s office opens. Only he’s not the one who steps out. It’s Mr. Pierce. As soon as he’s in sight, all traces of playfulness drop away from Steve. His jaw locks. His eyes grow hard. His gaze drops to the table. 

Bucky already knew he didn’t like him -- and he has zero love for the man himself -- but Steve’s reaction is just so intense Bucky can feel the heat roll off of him. The air crackles. It burns.

“Steven Rogers,” Mr. Pierce says in greeting. “Mr. Barnes. I trust you’re here for the progress meeting.”

“Y-yes, sir,” Bucky replies. He had no idea that Mr. Pierce would be here. “We’re both here. For that.” 

“Well, I suppose that means you know how to follow _some_ rules.” 

That’s meant for Steve, very obviously. Steve crushes in jaw in frustration but doesn’t respond. Eyes hard and focused on the table, he doesn’t even acknowledge the comment. 

“Whenever you’re ready, gentlemen,” Mr. Pierce says and goes back into the office.

For a few seconds, nothing happens. Neither of them move and Steve’s angry gaze hasn’t even shifted. In fact, looking at him now, Bucky’s sure he just looks angrier. Before Bucky has a chance to say anything, Steve’s furious gaze flicks up to meet his. 

“I didn’t know,” he grunts, “that _he’d_ be here.” 

“Neither did I,” Bucky replies, not too enthusiastic about having to do it this way. “Steve,” he whispers. “I don’t like him either.” 

Steve’s expressions softens just enough for Bucky to know that his words begin to sink in. His chin lifts as he takes a better look at Bucky. 

“Why?” Steve questions. Almost suspicious, but not rude. Or not intentionally. “What happened?”

Bucky can remember it like it happened yesterday. When he went to Mr. Pierce in the ninth grade without knowing that his open-door policy and good-nature was reserved for those who fit his standards. The mold he deemed worthy of attention. Mr. Pierce thought, at the time, that Bucky fit in with the rest of them. Bucky did, too. 

“What can I do for you, Mr. Barnes?” he’d asked the day Bucky came to see him. Gestured to the seat across from his desk. “Sit down. Let’s chat.” 

That was the day Bucky’d gone for help with the locker room situation. He told Mr. Pierce all about the offensive things some of the guys were always saying. Asked if he could maybe do something -- _anything_ \-- about it. All the while, Mr. Pierce sat across from him with this hard _look_ on his face. 

“So, um…” Bucky cleared his throat. Tugged on the collar of the shirt that hadn’t been too tight. “Is there anything you can do? Sir?” 

Mr. Pierce pursed his lips and drummed his fingers over his crossed arms. He sucked in a deep breath through flared nostrils and licked his teeth on the heavy exhale. 

“Tell me, Mr. Barnes,” he said. “Are any of these remarks _racist_ in nature?” 

“Uh.” Bucky thought back on it and couldn’t recall anyone saying anything like that. Even the jackasses had some sort of limit. At least, a limit on what they knew they could get away with saying. “No. Not that I know of. It’s--”

“So, what you’re complaining to me about,” Mr. Pierce interrupted, “is standard locker room talk?” 

Bucky’s stomach twisted. The way Mr. Pierce said that, there was nothing understanding or good-natured about it. 

“I don’t…” Bucky cleared his throat. “I mean, it’s… it’s sexist and totally homophobic.” 

Instead of saying or doing anything helpful, Mr. Pierce’s eyes zeroed in on him and he breathed in and out very slowly. 

“There aren’t any girls there to hear,” he said. “Are any of the school’s _LGBT_ ” -- the acronym came out dripping with judgement -- “students in your class?” 

“Um.. I--”

“You?” Mr. Pierce interrupted. Again. “Are _you_ gay, Mr. Barnes?” 

Stomach falling, Bucky’s heart jumped into his throat. The air grew thick and hot around him. Goosebumps rose on the skin behind his neck. 

“I… I didn’t say…”

“Because you realize, Mr. Barnes, that if you _are_ one of them, it'd be possible to do something about this. Of course, we’d have to have a chat with everyone in your gym class to fix it.”

The thought made chunks of ice tumble down his spine. Bucky was worried he might actually be sick on the spot. 

“N-no,” Bucky whispered. “No, that’s… nevermind. I… I’m sorry, I…”

He’d gotten up then. Gotten up and hurried to the nearest restroom and cried in one of the stalls until the next period. 

But Bucky doesn’t tell Steve any of this. The idea of saying a word about it makes that ice cling to his spine again. 

So, instead, Bucky quickly says, “Nothing. No, I… nothing ever happened.” 

Eyebrows pulling together, Steve gives him a doubtful look but he ends up shrugging with a frown. 

“Okay. I mean, that sounds fake, but… okay. You don’t gotta tell me if you don’t wanna.” 

Bucky sighs and pushes away from the table. As much as he dreads the idea of sitting in with Mr. Pierce again, he wants more to just get it over with as fast as possible. 

“C’mon, Steve,” he murmurs. “Let’s just hurry this up.” 

Steve exhales sharply. That pissed off expression hasn’t cleared -- Bucky’s sure it’ll remain there the whole time -- as they go into Mr. Coulson’s office. Mr. Coulson is on the phone, but when he sees them coming he smiles at them and gestures to the two empty chairs. Sitting in the seat by one of the bookcases, is Mr. Pierce. 

“Bucky, Steve,” Mr. Coulson greets when he hangs up the phone just seconds after they sit. “How’re you today?”

“Okay,” Bucky answers. 

Steve says nothing. 

“You know why we’re here, yes, Steve?” 

Steve’s eyes flick up to meet his and he nods. 

“Okay, good. How’re the meetings going?” 

Steve shrugs, but before Mr. Coulson or Mr. Pierce can say anything, he actually gives an answer. 

“It’s good,” he whispers. “I like working with Bucky.” 

Forgetting himself for a second, Bucky almost looks over at him. It takes a great deal of effort to remember that he needs to appear professional. That doesn’t stop the smile from pulling across his face. Steve’s never said that before. 

“Good,” Mr. Coulson replies. “That’s good. And we’ve made some progress, then? I know you haven’t gotten into any fights in the past month. Something must be working.”

Yeah, Bucky thinks, it has nothing to do with this though. It’s because Steve’s afraid of being expelled. Bucky would be too if it meant being shipped off to some home. _Back_ , for that matter. Of course Steve’s on his best behavior.

“Yes,” Bucky says. “We’ve got some pretty good plans of action and Steve’s responding well to them.” 

“Well, we can all agree that that’s a plus.” He looks at Mr. Pierce. “Right?”

Mr. Pierce looks quite unimpressed with everything that’s been said. Still, he takes his gaze away from Steve to look at Mr. Coulson with a pleasant smile. A lie, of course, but it’s still a smile to his colleague. 

“I think we should have a look at this course of action,” Mr. Pierce says, “before we decide that.” 

Right. Of course. Bucky takes his notebook out of his bookbag and hands it over to Mr. Coulson, who actually hands it to Mr. Pierce. Bucky should’ve seen that coming. As the Dean of Students, it’s his job to discipline. He’s the one who’ll ultimately decide what happens to Steve. While he’s skimming through Bucky’s notes and flipping through the pages, something makes him scoff a chuckle. 

“You have here that Steve is starting to open up and talk to people instead of fighting when there’s a conflict.” He looks at Steve -- who isn’t looking at him or anyone -- and then to Bucky. “What proof do you have of that?” 

“Well… um…” Bucky scratches at the back of his head. “He has some words with a fellow student and instead of letting it escalate, they worked it out on their own.” 

“What student was this?” Mr. Pierce asks. “We need him to be able to corroborate your story.” 

Next to him, Bucky can tell Steve tenses. He makes an irritated sound in the back of his throat, too, but Bucky’s not sure if anyone else can hear him. Before Bucky can tell him it was Tony that Steve had an argument with -- which he really doesn’t want to do -- Mr. Coulson says something. 

“Alex, it’s Friday afternoon,” he points out. “I’m sure whoever it was has gone home for the weekend. Besides.” Mr. Coulson offers a soft smile to Bucky. “I’m sure this year’s valedictorian is a trustworthy source. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Arm folding over his chest, Mr. Pierce leans back in his seat and takes a long gaze at Bucky. Maybe Steve too but when those eyes fall onto him, Bucky drops his eyes to anything other than him. 

“I suppose,” Mr. Pierce agrees. “Looks like he’s doing a good job. There hasn’t been any incidents involving Mr. Rogers since they started working together. Let’s see if he can keep it up.”

He drops Bucky’s notebook down on Mr. Coulson’s desk, straightens his tie, and leaves without another word. Mr. Coulson picks the book up and flips through it himself. It only takes him a minute or so, and when he’s through, he is kind enough to actually hand it back to Bucky. 

“Don’t worry,” he says as Bucky takes it from him. “You’re doing very well, boys. Steve?” Steve silently lifts his eyes to meet Mr. Coulson’s. “If you keep working with Bucky, I think you’ll be just fine. Okay?” 

“Mhm.” Steve shoves his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie. “Whatever.” 

It’s quiet for a few seconds. The silence makes Bucky feel like the walls are creeping in. Everything is uncomfortable. He’s not stupid. This meeting was a swift kick to Steve’s good mood. And it wasn’t fair. Steve’s right when he says Mr. Pierce has something against him. No wonder Steve hates him with such intensity. 

After a few moments, Mr. Coulson says, “Bucky? Would you mind giving us a minute?” 

“Sure.” Bucky nods and gathers his things. “I’ll just…”

Bucky points with his thumb over his shoulder and heads to the door. He’s not entirely sure if he’s meant to wait because Mr. Coulson might have more to say or if Mr. Coulson thinks he should wait for Steve. The former is honestly the more likely of the two. In all honesty, Steve probably wants to distance himself from Bucky right now. Shove that wedge between them again. 

He’s not waiting out there very long. Just a few minutes. Bucky hasn’t even decided to take a seat when the door opens again and Steve comes out with Mr. Coulson. The hood of his hoodie is pulled over his head now and he doesn’t spare a glance in Bucky’s direction but he does nod at whatever Mr. Coulson murmurs to him. Soft enough that Bucky can only hear the hum of his voice. 

Once he’s done with whatever he’s got to say to Steve, Mr. Coulson grins at Bucky, adds a pat to Steve’s shoulder, and tells them both that they can leave for the day. Wishes them a good weekend. For a moment, neither of them do anything. Bucky’s quite sure that Steve isn’t going to tell him what he and Mr. Coulson talked about. He still looks really angry. 

Which is made quite obvious when Steve goes to leave the main office without a parting glance or word to Bucky. Without thinking, Bucky’s on his heels the moment the doors close behind him. 

“Steve!” Bucky calls after him. “Steve, wait!” 

“Not now, Bucky,” Steve grumbles as he tries to keep ahead of him. 

“I’m in pretty good shape, Steve,” Bucky says as he quickens his pace to match his. “I can keep up with you.” 

Steve huffs and slows just slightly. He doesn’t look at Bucky when he replies. “What do you want?” 

“I need your help with something.” 

The words just come out of Bucky’s mouth. Unthought of and out of nowhere. But the second he says it, he realizes he means it. They also grab Steve’s ankles and pull him to a halt. Now, he looks at Bucky. Surprised. Confused, even. 

“You what?” 

“There’s… there’s something I need to do tomorrow.” When he doesn’t go into any more detail than that, Steve’s eyebrows lift. Asking for more information. It’s not like he can help him if he doesn’t know what he needs help with. “I’ve got this interview. For a scholarship. And I’m… I’m really freaked out about it.” 

Steve pushes his hood off. Gives Bucky his full attention. No judgment in his eyes. No well-meaning encouragement that actually just makes Bucky even more nervous. Steve just looks at him with curiosity and eagerness. That pure earnest need to do right by someone. 

“Okay,” he says. “How can I help?” 

His parents aren’t going to like this idea, but to hell with them. He knows what might help and he’s not going to let the opportunity slip by just because they might not like it. Or get it. That’s their problem. 

“Would you…” Bucky needs to slow his heart. It’s beating dangerously fast. “Will you come with me? To the interview, I mean.” 

“Me?” Steve asks, genuinely surprised by Bucky’s request. His eyes go wide, filled with that shock. “You want me to go with you? Not… I dunno, your girlfriend or your best friend?” 

Bucky’d considered asking them, he really did. Having Natasha or Clint or both by his side definitely makes sense. They’d be there to support him and encourage him if he just asked. The difference, though, is that Steve would completely ignore the fact that Bucky was headed for a scholarship interview. He’d pretend that it didn’t even exist. That they were just doing something normal. A day of fun. Instead of assuring Bucky over and over again that he’s gonna be great, Steve’ll make him forget all about it. At least, for a little bit. That’s what Bucky’s gonna need. He knows it. 

“You were my best friend, too,” Bucky says. “So.” 

Eyes dropping to the floor, Steve’s mouth twist. He pushes his glasses back up his nose before glancing up again. 

“That was then,” he answers, softly. “Things are… they’re…”

“Different?” Steve almost nods, but doesn’t quite complete the action. “Are they though? I mean… you’re still you. I dunno _how_ much I’ve changed. I know we _have_ but… deep down…” Bucky snickers. “You still look at your feet when you walk. You suck on your lip when you’re nervous.” He’s doing that right now. “You care about everything with your whole heart. And you’ll never back down from a fight. Because once you start running, you worry they’ll never let you stop. So you stand up and push back.”

A bit of moisture gathers in the corners of Steve’s eyes. A tear or two dance along his thick eyelashes. They never do fall. His face holds all the makings of someone ready to burst into tears, but Steve is far too stubborn to let that happen. 

Instead, he sucks in a jagged breath and sniffles once and quickly dabs at his eyes. He makes a soft noise. Maybe the start of an unspoken thought. When he looks at Bucky again, his expression is cool and calm with just a hint of honor gleaming through his eyes. 

“What time do you need me?”

***

When Bucky wakes in the morning, he finds two texts on his phone. One from Natasha; the other from Clint. They each wish him luck in their own way. Last night, he’d gone to Natasha’s house for supper where he received congratulations from her parents on getting into Harvard. Afterward, Clint had come over and they put on a movie. Mind too preoccupied with this stupid scholarship interview, it’d been rather difficult to pay attention. While they sat there, laughing at the movie, Bucky kept discreetly going over his notes on his phone. When Natasha noticed, she took the phone from him and asked Clint to hang onto it. 

“You need to relax before this,” Natasha reminded him. “That’s why you’re here, remember?” 

He did remember. And he knew that, it was just… it felt like if he didn’t spend every moment he _could_ trying to prepare for this, it’d be his own fault if he didn’t get it. He wasted time watching a movie instead of preparing as best he could. 

“C’mon, Buck, you got this,” Clint had said. “You’ve been going over this stuff for weeks.” 

Bucky didn’t get his phone back until they called it a night. Early, given what he has to do today. Downstairs, he can hear his parents getting ready. None of his sisters are awake yet. If they are, they’re being exceptionally quiet. Something smells great. French toast. Miss Agatha must’ve cooked for him. Well, he might not be able to actually eat it -- just the thought of eating makes him queasy -- but the thought makes him smile. 

Phone already in his hand, Bucky opens his notes to start running through them again. He does have a copy written out on index cards, but since he can’t have them with him, he’s just gotten used to looking at his phone. Which, okay, he can’t look at that while presenting either, but it somehow feels like he’s better prepared this way. 

A text comes in as he’s reading. From Steve. Bucky’s first thought is that he might be canceling on him. Much to his delight, Steve’s simply texting to tell him he’s on the way. Bucky smiles. Texts back a quick thanks just as his mother shouts up the stairs for him. 

“Bucky!” she calls. “Are you up?”

Bucky sighs and flings the covers away. He opens the door just enough to shout back to her. 

“Yes!”

She tells him to get a move on and that there’s breakfast waiting for him. Groaning, Bucky doesn’t go back into his room. Instead, he goes straight to the bathroom to wash up. His mom picked out a suit with him to wear for today. Nothing too fancy. Something that says serious. Black slacks. Blue button down. Striped blue and deep purple tie to go with it. Bucky doesn’t put the jacket on right away. He carries that with him and gently places it over the back of the couch. He’ll eat breakfast first. 

When Bucky reaches the kitchen, he’s not surprised to see both his parents and Miss Agatha -- who’s putting two pieces of French toast on a plate for him. He _is_ surprised to see Becky already digging into her breakfast. He’s surprised she’s up at all. 

“Hey, slowpoke,” she says with her mouth stuffed full of food. “Nervous?”

Indubitably. But he’s not about to let his annoying little sister know that so he just scoffs with a dramatic roll of his eyes and plops down at the table. 

“What’re _you_ doing up, Rebecca?”

Before answering, Becky, with her mouth _still_ filled with food, sticks her tongue out at him. She pulls it back in just in time. Any longer and Miss Agatha may’ve seen. They both share a quiet snicker as though they’ve gotten away with some dastardly deed. 

“As a matter of fact, _James_ ,” Becky answers. “I’m going with you.” 

“Wh _a_ t?!” Bucky shrieks. “ _Why_?”

Not that he’s particularly bothered by her coming along. Bucky just can’t imagine why she’d want to come to his scholarship interview. It’s not exactly like he’s going to have a good time. 

“Because we’re going dress shopping after.” 

“N-what? Why? Why today?”

“It’s the only day we can go,” his mom replies, not looking up from the text she’s answering. “The dance is less than two months away. If she’s gonna get one and have it altered in time, we need to pick it out.”

“Yeah.” Becky grins as if she’s just beaten him in some argument. “Besides.” She takes a drink of orange juice. “I’m good luck.” 

Bucky only rolls his eyes in answer to that. Before he can comment back to her, his mother is saying something else. 

“Speaking of which,” she says. “Has Natasha picked out a dress for prom yet? It’s only three months from now. It’s never too early to rent a tux to match and to start looking at flowers.” 

To be honest, Bucky knows for a fact that Natasha _has_ started looking at dresses. He knows what style she wants it to be. She’s got a pretty good idea of what color she wants, too. They’d always planned on going to prom together. Not necessarily as a couple, but together. Clint, too. Possibly even taking pictures as their little Three Musketeer group. 

Bucky can just imagine it. Him and Clint donned in tuxes. Natasha dressed to the nines. Bucky and her teasing Clint about cleaning up real nice. Hopping into a rented limo for the evening with a few of their other friends. The evening a glitter of laughter and smiles. Dancing and, hopefully, good food. After prom fun that would belong to them and only them. Falling asleep in a pile of friends and exhaustion. 

But, now with Mom bringing it up, a new image flashes through his mind. Not so different from how he’s always pictured it. Just an addition. An adorable little blonde on his arm. Dressed in a tux to match Bucky’s. Boutonniere pinned to his lapel. Piercings still in because they’re a part of who he is now. 

Steve would look amazing. 

“Bucky?”

“What?!” Bucky snaps his mouth closed. Realizes he’s just shouted that. “Um… I mean… what?” 

“Are you paying attention? I asked about--”

“Natasha’s dress,” he interrupts. “Right. Um. No. I mean, I dunno. If she’s got one yet.”

Bucky’s not sure why he lies about such a thing. But just thinking about Natasha getting a dress when the image of Steve by his side is still fresh in his head just feels weird. Well, to be honest, the whole thing feels weird. Why that image is there at all is strange enough. Feeling the need to lie because of it is even worse. 

“Well, that’s okay,” she says. “But lemme know as soon as you know.”

“Uh-ha.” Bucky cuts into some more of his breakfast. “What’re _we_ supposed to do while Becky tries on a zillion dresses?” 

“Actually,” Dad says as he pours a cup of coffee. “I’ve gotta stop into the office. So it’s just gonna be--” 

“No, I meant…” Bucky shakes his head. Realizes he hasn’t told them about their additional guest. “I mean Steve. Steve is coming, too.” 

That must be the magic phrase to get everyone around here to stop for a few seconds at least. The second the words are out of Bucky’s mouth, everyone in the kitchen halts whatever they were doing. Becky stops mid-chew. Dad, who was about to take a sip of coffee, lowers his cup. Mom glances up from her phone. Even Miss Agatha pauses in washing the dishes. 

“I’m sorry.” Mom shakes her head. “What?”

“Steve,” Bucky repeats. “Steve is coming.”

“An-and _why_ is Steve coming?”

Stomach twisting, Bucky could swear the air gets hotter. “Because I asked him. And he said yes.”

“Okay, but…” She rubs between her eyes like she’s getting a migraine. “Why exactly is this boy tagging along on the most important day of your life?”

“Because I want him there.” 

“But--”

“Whatever you have to say,” Bucky interrupts, “keep it to yourself. I don’t wanna hear it.” 

“ _James_ ,” his dad scolds from across the room. “I don’t want to hear you speaking to your mother like that!”

Bucky opens his mouth to reply. To tell him -- _them_ \-- that he’s not the one who started this. He’s not the one who judged Steve so harshly upon first sight. Well, yes he did, but at least he had a reason. He didn’t just _look_ at Steve and hate him. 

“Okay, there’s no point in arguing about this now,” Mom says before he can say a word about it. “You’ve got a big day here and if this is what you want, we’ll just… he’ll just come along.” 

Not in the mood to argue, Bucky digs into his food, stuffing as much as he can into his mouth before he says something he might regret. It doesn’t take much longer for him to finish eating anyway. Once he’s done, Bucky takes his dish to the sink where Miss Agatha is still washing. She takes it from him. Wishes him the best of luck with an added kiss to his cheek. 

As Bucky heads for the living room, there’s a dock on the door. The sound pulls a smile out of Bucky’s previous discontented frown. He’d been in the middle of pulling his suit jacket and doesn’t complete the action as he goes to answer the door. It remains half-on, half-off even when he’s met with Steve’s smiling face.

“Hi,” Bucky greets. “You’re here.” 

Steve gives him a funny look as he comes in. “What? Of course I am. I said I’d be.” He then grins as his eyes roam over Bucky’s body. “Is that a new style I’m not aware of?”

Bucky looks over himself and realizes he means the jacket hanging off one side of his body. He rolls his eyes and fits it around himself properly. Finished, he holds his arms out to the side.

“Better?”

Grin still on his face, Steve steps up close enough that Bucky almost jerks away. He’s not sure why Steve is so close to him. And he’s not sure why it makes his heart pound like this. All Steve does, though, is fix the knot in his tie and then flatten out the lapel of his jacket. 

“You look good, Buck,” he murmurs. “Nice and spiffy.” 

Cheeks warming with a blush, Bucky ducks his head down and almost forgets that he’s already done his hair and probably shouldn’t run his fingers through it. 

“Th-thanks, Steve.”

“Why, Bucky Barnes,” Steve teases, “have I made you blush again?” 

Bucky groans. Smothers his face in his palm and sighs. He’d like to glower at Steve but can’t seem to stop smiling. Steve’s eyes glow when he looks at him again. That smile is still on his face. Tongue pinched between his teeth. Bucky wishes Steve didn’t look at him like that. The way that makes his heart pound. The way that makes him want to look at Steve forever. The way that makes him want to breach the small space between them to brush their lips together. 

Clearing his throat, Bucky swallows a whole bunch of emotions, ignores the strange way his heart is behaving, and finally puts some distance between them. 

“Um. So, uh.” Bucky scratches the back of his neck. “You’re sure this is okay? I mean, you’re not gonna, I dunno, get in trouble?” 

“Why would I get in trouble?”

Well, Bucky really isn’t sure, but by the way Steve completely panicked at the idea of being late that one evening, he figures the rules set down at home are more harshly enforced than prison rules. Which is strange. Sarah Rogers, while firm and strict, was always kind and compassionate. Understanding, most of all. Bucky can remember Steve being worried about his mom being mad at him -- she definitely was always a force to be reckoned with -- but what Bucky saw that night was genuine fear. What Bucky can’t ever imagine is Steve being _afraid_ of his mother. 

“I don’t… I don’t know,” Bucky mutters. “Your curfew, maybe?

“Well.” Steve throws a silly grin at him. “I’m good. Curfew isn’t till eleven on the weekend.” 

It’s quiet for a second. Bucky wants to talk some more. Wants to thank Steve for agreeing to come with him for this. But he’s too nervous that if he tries to, some other words will come out of his mouth. Bucky doesn’t trust his heart to cooperate with his brain right now. 

Luckily -- or unluckily, depending on how he chooses to see it -- people start coming down the stairs. Once their footsteps reach them, Steve takes another step backward, as though worried about being caught doing something wrong when all he’d been doing was standing there with Bucky. 

“Bucky, honey.” That’d be Mom. “Are you read--oh. Hello, Steven. Nice to see you again.” 

Steve quickly tugs his beanie off the top of his head and gives her -- and by extension, Dad, Miss Agatha, and Becky -- a polite smile. 

“Hello, Mrs. Barnes.” His gaze shifts. “Mr. Barnes.” When he catches eyes with Miss Agatha, his smile eases into something more relaxed. “Hey, Aggie. Bex.” 

Miss Agatha gives him a wave before excusing herself to the kitchen again where she’s probably going to start cooking breakfast for the rest of the crew. While she disappears, Becky bounds down the rest of the steps, past their parents, and stops right in front of Steve. 

“Did Bucky tell you what we’re doing today?” 

Eyes swinging from her to Bucky -- who can only roll his eyes in response -- Steve chuckles and shrugs. 

“I’d been under the impression that Bucky had a scholarship meeting today,” he says. “I’m guessing you have something less fun for us to do.” 

Becky’s mouth falls open. Clearly she underestimated Steve’s level of sass. Still, despite the scandalized look, she starts laughing. 

“Touché.” She nods at him. “And, yes, actually, I do. We’re going dress shopping.” 

Steve’s eyes go wide. “Whoa, pump the brakes. Who says dress shopping isn’t _awesome_?” 

“Oh em gee!” Becky squeals, practically launching herself at Steve. “Bucky, I’m keeping him.” 

Though her initial excitement makes Steve stagger back a bit, he hugs her and laughs as well, smirking at Bucky with a wiggle of his eyebrows. Bucky scoffs.

“Yeah, yeah. You can keep ‘im.” 

Which is a complete and utter lie and Bucky has no idea when that happened, but the idea of losing Steve again -- even just this little bit of a relationship they have -- hurts somewhere deep inside him. 

“Ouch,” Steve says. “Can always count on you, Bucky Barnes.” 

Bucky smiles and inches closer, just enough to take hold of Steve’s hand and untwine the two of them. 

“Sorry, Beck,” Bucky says. “I guess I’m stuck with him.” 

“From schoolyard to battlefield.” Steve hums softly and rests his head upon Bucky’s shoulder. “We’re inseparable.” 

Bucky knows that Steve is only goofing around with him. He knows he’s just being a dork. Knows his words are said only in jest. But that doesn’t stop his heart from leaping to his throat where it beats frantically in some illogical attempt burst free. 

“Okay, well,” Mom says, interrupting whatever inappropriate behavior is happening in her living room. “We need to get a move-on if we’re going to be on time.” 

As if knowing judgmental eyes are upon him, Steve jerks away from Bucky the second she starts speaking. He says nothing. Simply goes closer to the door to wait for everyone else. 

Holding back a roll of his eyes, Bucky gets his coat on and lets everyone else get ahead of them when they go outside. Just to make sure Steve knows that his thoughts are not the same as his parents’, Bucky nudges him with his elbow as they make their way to his dad’s car. It doesn’t matter that Steve’s been over several times since that first evening -- and during those times, his parents have been a lot more gracious -- Bucky would hate it if his parents hurt him. 

When he nudges him, though, and Steve returns the sentiment with a smile and a sparkle in his eyes, Bucky figures he gets it. 

When they climb into the far back seat of the silver Lexus RX, Bucky starts to feel sick. Once that door closes as Becky gets in, his fate is sealed. A bit dramatic, he knows, but he gasps, unable to catch his breath for a moment. A tremble flies up his spine. He really might forget how to breathe except something soft and warm takes his hand. The only thing that grounds him to reality.

Bucky glances down and sees his fingers laced with someone else’s. Eyes flicking to the side, he realizes those extra fingers belong to Steve. Steve is sitting in the backseat of the Barnes’ car, holding his hand while simply scrolling through his phone. He’s not making a big deal of this at all. As if holding Bucky’s hand is something he’d normally do. 

Bucky smiles. 

And his heart starts to settle. 

Their hands stay locked the whole time they drive and although Bucky’s sure his parents want him to be looking over his notes one final time, Steve keeps distracting him with ridiculously cheesy jokes and memes and BuzzFeed articles. All the while, Steve makes him crack up so hard his sides hurt and keeps his hand tucked in his and sings along with the radio. He doesn’t have a bad voice, either. Some fine-tuning and practice would make it really nice. 

Helps that he doesn’t seem to have any stage fright either. Or, well, backseat car fright. Even with Bucky’s parents and one of his sisters as an audience, Steve goes right on singing. In fact, when one song comes on, Steve continues singing the way he’s been. Soft. Sweet. But as the song goes on, Bucky can’t help joining him. Once he does, Steve grins and sings louder. Bucky matches in volume. 

By the time the song is ending, they’re both belting out the lyrics, high-pitched and off-key, and dissolve into a pile of laughter. In the front seats, Bucky’s pretty sure his parents are at least smiling. In the middle row, Becky sighs and shakes her head. 

“You two,” she says, “are a pair of dorks.” 

That only makes them laugh harder, and it’s perfectly fine with Bucky. Especially when he realizes that they’ve pretty much reached their destination. He swallows the hard lump that’s lodged itself in his throat and throws a frantic glance in Steve’s direction. 

Without even a word, Steve pats Bucky’s hand and pulls something out of the front pocket of his hoodie. It’s a Band-aid. Bucky watches with confusion as Steve tucks the thing into the breast pocket of his dress shirt. 

“Just in case,” he whispers. “I doubt you’ll need it, but if you do, I’ll help patch you up.” 

Glands swelling in his throat, Bucky gives him a shaky smile. Leave it to skinny, little Steve Rogers to make Bucky fall in love on what’s probably the most important day of his life. 


	10. Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky sees some of Steve's vulnerability and makes a choice that might change everything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **trigger warning for bullying and homophobia from the usual assholes**

This office is nothing like Mr. Coulson’s. There’re no pictures. Nothing but thick textbooks in the bookshelves. Tons of plaques and commemorations on the walls. Dark walls. Big, gaudy desk. Long enough to have four people with room to spare. None of the people behind it even took Bucky here. The man who showed him in was an assistant. 

The first person Bucky notices is Professor Jean Grey; probably because her red hair reminded him of Natasha. She has it styled long and straight though, and her complexion is not as fair as Natasha’s. Next to her is Professor Charles Xavier. Light reflects off his bald head and he’s got a seriously high-tech wheelchair. Bucky wonders if it’s one of Stark Industries’ models. On the other side of Professor Grey sits Dr. Cecilia Reyes--a renowned doctor and surgeon who does guest lectures not just at Ivy League schools, but any schools that’ll have her. She wears her dark brown hair in tight, cornrow braids. Next to her is the civil rights activist, Dr. T’Challa King. He makes Bucky the most nervous. He’s such an important and influential man, and Bucky can’t believe he’s in the same room as him let alone the fact that he needs to _impress_ him. 

Currently, they all sit there reading over Bucky’s information. All Bucky knows about is his school records. If there’s more there, he knows nothing about it. 

“So.” Dr. King drops the file onto the desk. “Mr. Barnes. You’re interested in going to Harvard.” 

Bucky almost starts his reply with an _um_. He quickly backtracks. Doesn’t want to sound unprofessional or unprepared. He most definitely doesn’t want to sound like he’s second-guessing himself. Because he’s not. Harvard. That’s where he’s going. 

“Yes, sir.” He squeezes his hands. “I received my acceptance letter a few weeks ago.” 

“Well, allow us to congratulate you. Not only on your acceptance, but I see you’re also your class’s valedictorian.”

A soft smile turns up one side of his mouth. “Thank you, sir.”

“Tell us, James,” Dr. Reyes says. “Where do you see yourself in five years?” 

Shit, Bucky hates this question. He never has any idea how to answer it. Which, right now, is ridiculous considering he’s been practicing an answer to it for weeks. 

“Well, I’m driven to be the best at what I do,” he answers. “And I want to be somewhere where I’ll have opportunities to develop the skills I hope to learn by attending one of the best universities in the country.” 

All four of them immediately started taking notes while Bucky gives them his answer. All four pairs of eyes find him again when he finishes. 

“Someone as driven as you, Mr. Barnes,” Professor Grey says, “must have his major picked out already, yes?” 

The first answer that pops into Bucky’s head almost throws him off his entire game. English isn’t the right response so why it even enters Bucky’s mind is absurd. He clears his throat. Makes sure the _right_ answer comes out of his mouth.

“Yes, that’s right. I’d like to major in political science.”

Relief gives him a quick hug. He managed to get through that one without any difficulties. Of course, that should be the easiest of all the questions he’s sure to be asked. 

“And what do you plan to do with a political science degree?” Dr. Reyes asks. 

“I want to help people,” Bucky replies. “I’d like to be a lawyer.”

Dr. King inhales sharply. The noise makes Bucky’s stomach clench. Maybe that was the wrong way to answer.

“What type of law?” he asks. 

“Discrimination.” Maybe. Bucky’s not entirely sure, but he’s seriously considered this one the most. “I’d like to be able to help people who feel they’ve been wronged.”

If anything, he’ll do a better job than Mr. Pierce ever has. 

“Tell us a little about yourself, James,” Dr. Xavier says. “Sell yourself to us. Help us see why you deserve this scholarship.” 

Another one of those impossible questions. Sell himself to them. What the hell is that even supposed to mean. 

Bucky goes on to tell them that he’s got a lot of friends and enjoys a wide range of various activities. That he loves to read and learn. That he’s not only smart but compassionate and hard-working. The whole time, they go on taking their notes and Bucky badly wishes he could take a peek at whatever they’re writing about him. 

“Okay. Very good,” Professor Grey says. “Very good. Before we continue, we need to inform you that you’re one of over a hundred applicants for this scholarship. Why do you think you deserve it?” 

“Well, I…” He forces a grin. “I’m hardworking.” Which he already said, damn it. “I like to believe that I have integrity. Over the past few years, I…” Bucky chuckles slightly. “You know what. I can stand here and give you some Miss America kind of speech about how I volunteer and make good grades and join a lot of extracurricular activities.” This is completely deviating from the plan. If his parents find out… they’re gonna have a _field_ day. “But, the truth is, I don’t know if I deserve it or not. There’s probably someone with better grades who does more than I do. I can tell you this, though. If you award me this scholarship, I will use it to the best of my ability and I won’t disappoint.”

None of them actually respond to that beyond a few stares and then a couple of blinks. Not until Dr. King offers a soft smile. 

“Okay, James,” Dr. Reyes says. “Tell us, what do you see as today’s single most important societal problem?” 

Bucky takes in a deep breath. This is the part he’s been preparing for since he was recommended by his guidance counselor. He’s got this whole thing memorized. 

“There is no question in my mind that inequality is prevalent in all sorts of human society. No matter the level of human development, inequality seems to be existent. In modern societies, inequality manifests in social and economic classes, power, income, access to health facilities, academic, gender and other forms…” 

By the time Bucky’s finished, he’s honestly not sure if he did well or not. They thank him for coming and tell him that he’ll be contacted in approximately two weeks to let him know their decision. Bucky’s sure to thank them and shake each of their hands and once he’s out in the hall again, he sinks down against the wall.

A few tremors roll up his spine. They make his hands shake. He thinks, for a second, that he might get sick. When that doesn’t happen, Bucky gets back to his feet. He needs to get back downstairs to the lobby where everyone is waiting for him.

No one notices him right away. Which Bucky would rather. He’s not sure how he’s gonna respond to their inevitable questions. So he’s fine with taking a moment to just watch them. Mom and Dad are both on their phones. Work stuff, probably. Becky and Steve are sitting a bit away from them. Together.

Sounds like they’re talking about art together. Becky says something about digital design. About wanting to pursue it in college. Bucky never knew that. She then says that she knows it’ll just be a waste of time. 

“What?” Steve replies to that. “Why would it be a waste of time?”

Becky shrugs. “I mean, what’m I gonna do?”

“There’s a lot you can do,” Steve says. “There’s fashion design and graphic design and event planning and…” He shakes his head. “Besides, if it’s your passion, then you should follow it. Isn’t that what matters most?” 

Bucky doesn’t hear the reply to that question. He’s too busy looking at his parents, trying to figure out what they’d think of such a comment. Maybe they’d support it. Maybe they’d call it a hobby. Like Bucky and his writing. 

“Bucky!” Becky exclaims while his eyes are still focused on their parents. “You’re back!” 

The second his name is said, Mom and Dad look away from their phones to find him. When their gaze lands on him, Bucky shoves his hands in his pockets and steps forward. He’s barely even taken two steps before his parents are all over him. Becky follows but stays behind them. The only one who doesn’t move is Steve.

“How was it?”

“Did they like you?”

“How do you think you did?”

“What’d they say?”

Bucky can’t figure out who’s saying what and the questions keep coming. It’s too much at once. Instead of trying to answer any of it, Bucky moves away from them and goes to sit next to Steve. 

“Hey,” Steve greets. “You need that band-aid?” 

A smirk curves up the side of Bucky’s mouth. Of course, he’d know exactly the right thing to say. Seems to be a new trait of his. Actually, it’s more of an old trait. One that Steve’s kept hidden under a whole bunch of different things. Bucky’s still trying to sort through those things, but every now and then, like in this moment, he’ll catch a glimpse of that Steve. The one beneath all those other layers. He shakes his head. 

“No. I don’t think so.” 

“It went okay?”

“I guess so.” Bucky sighs. “I’m not really sure.”

“Just have to wait now, huh?”

Nodding, Bucky looks back to where his parents and sister stand. He deliberately avoids looking at his parents. They’re surely not thrilled with the fact that Bucky’s chosen Steve to talk to first. 

“So, are we, uh, going shopping, or what?” 

Becky’s face lights up as if she’d forgotten all about that. Which Bucky seriously doubts, but her mind may’ve been more focused on him for this moment. 

“Yeah!” she exclaims. Maybe a little louder than she intended. “Can we go now? We’re done here, right?”

After a quick exchange of glances, his parents both nod and they make their way to the exit. It’s back in the car that they finally ask the questions they tried to ask earlier. Only this time, it’s not a barrage of questions all at once. It’s one by one. Calmly. Makes it much easier for Bucky to answer. 

_I’m not sure._

_I think it was okay._

_They just said they’d be in touch_.

There’s not much more he can say on the matter. To be honest, Bucky’s not exactly confident with how things went. He’s not completely unsatisfied, but when he left, he couldn’t be sure if he really gave it his all. Of course, he’s not about to let his parents know that. Who knows how they’ll react if he tells them that he didn’t follow the plan.

***

Bucky never knew how much fun dress shopping could be. Sure, he’s been shopping for dresses before. With Natasha. That’s always been a good time. But this is something else entirely. And it’s Steve who makes all the difference. 

He’s actually incredibly helpful. Runs from rack to rack and comes back with dress after dress for Becky to try on. Even things Becky wouldn’t’ve considered. It’s probably because he drags Bucky with him every time he goes in search of another perfect dress for her so he can use him as a model. 

Steve’ll hold it up against Bucky’s body and assess it. Says that he and Becky have the same complexion and hair and eye color.

“You’re both pretty,” Steve says, and is much too preoccupied by a bunch of pink dresses to notice that Bucky’s face has turned an even darker shade. “Not in the _she looks like you only she’s a girl_ kinda way or vice versa. But you’re both pretty enough in similar ways that--” He holds up one of those dresses. “Ooo. This one’s good. C’mon.” 

They go back to the fitting rooms where Becky is currently twirling around in a little blue number. Backless. Sequins on the bodice. Mom is talking about silver shoes going nicely with it when she notices Steve coming back with yet another dress. This has to be at least the dozenth one she’s tried on. 

“She’s never going to choose one if you keep bringing more over,” she says. 

“Oh.” Steve stops short. “I’m sorry… I just…”

“No, no.” Mom chuckles. “It’s fine. You really have an eye for this.” 

Bucky laughs and nudges Steve with his elbow. “That’s because he’s a brilliant artist.” 

Eyes rolling, Steve hands this one over only to have Mom cringe when she gets a better look at it. Bucky doesn’t know what’s wrong with it, but Becky must since she sighs and jerks her knee. 

“ _Mother_ ,” she gripes. “It’s not 1980 anymore. Sleeves are _so_ thirty years ago.” 

Oh. This one is strapless; that must be the problem. All the others at least had thin straps or tied back at the neck. Halter top, Bucky thinks they called it. Mom’s been pretty firm on her anti-strapless opinion. 

It’s a pretty dress, though. Bucky can even tell that just by seeing it on the hanger. Steve says that it’s blush, not pink, though, to be honest, Bucky doesn’t see any difference. It laces up in the back and Becky seems to adore that. 

After a few minutes of whining, Mom finally agrees to let her try it on under the condition that it’s just for fun. Which Bucky knows is total bullshit. If this is the dress that Becky decides on, she’ll convince her to buy it. 

While she goes back into the dressing room, Steve drags Bucky back out in the store. For what, Bucky’s not sure. Steve’s already picked out about a million dresses. There’s gotta be a line somewhere. 

“What’re we doing _now_ , Steve?” Bucky grumbles behind a smile. “Doesn’t she have _enough_ dresses to choose from?” 

Steve sighs. Sounds like he’s disappointed. “We’re not looking for dresses now.”

“So, what--”

“Shoes, Buck,” Steve explains. “She can’t get a dress without the right shoes.” 

Which is apparently code for picking out a bunch of them and piling the boxes in Bucky’s arms while he keeps searching. By the time Steve is satisfied, Bucky’s carrying back five boxes and Steve has three more. 

“Pick one out yet?” Steve asks, which means they must’ve gotten back to the right spot. It’s not like Bucky can tell. All the boxes he's carrying blocks his view. 

“Mhm.” It’s Becky who answers but Bucky still can’t see which dress she’s chosen. “My powers of persuasion are unstoppable.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mom says as Bucky drops the pile of boxes between them. “You’re just lucky I love you, kid.” 

Unsurprisingly, it’s that last dress -- the pink, or rather blush one -- that she’s picked. She does look stunning in it. Even if Bucky simply rocks his hand back and forth when she asks what he thinks. For which he gets a shove of the shoulder from Steve. 

“Don’t listen to him, Bex,” Steve says. “You look wonderful.”

A blush tickles Becky’s cheeks. Despite her skin suddenly matching her dress very well, she still flicks her hair over her shoulder and gives him a haughty grin. 

“Pft. Course, I do.”

They repeat the process in their hunt for the perfect shoes. Becky tries on all the pairs that Steve’s brought over and then some that Mom picked out for her. This part takes even longer than the dress part. One pair, the color is perfect, but the straps are all wrong. Another pair are super cute but aren’t comfortable. 

Nearly two hours later, they settle on a dusty gold pair with sparkling butterflies on the straps. They’re going to take the dress up just enough that the butterflies will be seen on their own. As they make their way up to the front to pay, Bucky wonders if he’s gonna go through this same process with Natasha. 

“By the way, Steve,” Becky says as they pile back into the car. “You’re my official dress person. You need to come pick out every dress with me from now on. Even my wedding dress.” She pauses and then adds, “ _Especially_ my wedding dress.” 

“What if you’re marrying _me_?” Steve winks at her. “Hm?” 

Though Becky throws her head back to laugh at that, even looping her arm with Steve’s, Bucky’s stomach clenches. He has no idea why. He can’t _really_ be in love with Steve. Maybe, at most, he’s got some silly little crush. Love is… well, that’s not something he’s gonna touch. 

Maybe a neighbor down the street. A hello and goodbye, but nowhere near a first-name basis. Bucky can deal with that. He’s been squashing down his feelings for a few years now anyway. At this point, he’s a professional. 

***

By the time they’re getting home -- after stopping for pizza where Steve reluctantly accepted being paid for and then ate his share so quickly it was like he hadn’t had pizza in years -- Bucky’s not sure what the plan is. He knows he needs to get in touch with Natasha. If he doesn’t his mother will definitely wonder why. Most likely, she’ll question if something happened between them. He’s gotta talk to Clint, too. 

Thing is, Bucky doesn’t want to just send Steve away now. He’s having a good time with him and doesn’t want that to end. Not yet. There’s just one problem. Bucky has no idea how to ask Steve to hang out some more. Which is totally ridiculous. 

All it’ll take is a few words. A simple, _wanna come inside?_ or _Hey, you up for some Starbucks?_ Instead, Bucky just stands there while his mother says things that he doesn’t pay attention to and Becky talks about what she should do with her hair and nails. Steve puts in his two cents for that one. 

Apparently, he thinks her hair will look good in an updo with curled tendrils framing her face. Possibly a touch of color with a flower. Bucky’s never given that much thought to his sister’s hair before but once Steve makes his suggestion, he can picture it. It looks nice. 

“So.” Steve kicks a pebble. “Did I help?”

Bucky smiles. “Yeah. You did.” He reaches into his pocket for that band-aid. “You want this back?” 

“Nah.” He eases Bucky’s hand away. “You keep it. Just in--” 

Something startles him into fumbling over that last sentence. Eyebrows pulling together, Steve digs his phone out of his pocket. Whoever’s calling makes him nervous. They must. As soon as Steve looks at his screen, his entire demeanor shifts. He tenses. He pales. He tries to hide a gasp, but Bucky catches it. 

Steve takes a step backward and then turns to answer the call. 

“H-hello?” His voice wobbles. He lowers his voice to continue talking. “I… I told you where I was going.” Steve waits for the next reply. Though it’s hard to hear, it does sound like a man that he’s speaking with. “The tracker _is_ on.” He goes to say something else but must get cut off. “N-no, sir. But… but I thought I had till elev--” Steve crushes his jaw. “Meal time is seventeen hundred hours, sir. Yes, sir.” He tilts his head back, probably in aggravation; though, he’s careful to keep that out of his voice. “I’m… I’m on my way back now.” He almost hangs up but at the last second brings the phone back to his ear. “Sir.” 

When Steve ends the call, he doesn’t turn back around right away. In fact, his hand squeezes around his phone and, if Bucky’s not mistaken, he wipes at his eyes. 

“Is… is everything all right, Steve?” 

Steve sucks in a heavy breath. Exhales. Then cracks his neck. 

“I gotta go.”

“I thought you--”

“Yeah,” Steve grunts. “I thought so, too. Guess I was fuckin’ wrong. As usual.” 

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “Not you. Sorry, I… I just gotta go.” 

He takes off, then. Without even so much as a glance behind him or an actual farewell. Bucky just stands there, watching him hurry down the block. Whatever just happened really shook Steve. Whoever that was on the phone didn’t just make Steve angry. He scared him. That’s what it feels like to Bucky, anyway. Steve was too afraid to show any disrespect at all. 

The whole thing is just baffling. Bucky can’t imagine who would be calling Steve and demanding -- more like forcing -- such a reaction from him. Maybe Sarah remarried. It’s possible that Steve has a step-father that’s less than stellar, he supposes. He did say a few weeks ago that he hated being here. Less than he hated being sent away to that home, but he still used the word hate. But then, Bucky can’t really see Steve’s mother letting _anyone_ making Steve feel that way. Especially not someone she’d marry. 

Bucky pulls out his phone as he makes his way back inside. He considers texting Steve, but after the way he stormed away, that’s probably not the best idea. Steve probably needs time to cool down anyway so he texts Natasha and Clint instead. Asks if they wanna grab a cup of coffee. 

They answer him within minutes, both agreeing to meet him at the Starbucks around the corner. Bucky realizes just before he goes to leave that he should probably let his mother know that he’s going. 

“Ma!” he shouts from the door. “I’m goin’ out!” 

“Whoa, whoa, hang on there, mister!” She comes down the stairs. “Where’re you going and when will you be back?”

“Just to Starbucks with Tasha and Clint. I’ll be back in a little bit.” 

Before she responds to that, her eyes drift around for a second. Looks like she’s looking for something. 

“No Steve?”

Oh.

“Uh, no. He had to go.” 

“Mm.” She nods and doesn’t comment any further on that. “Be careful. Not too late.” 

Bucky waves over his shoulder and is shutting the door before she gets the chance to say anything else. He doesn’t know if her lack of response about Steve is because she’s glad he’s gone or just because she doesn’t care one way or the other. It actually doesn’t matter anyway. 

When Bucky gets to Starbucks, where Clint and Natasha are already waiting for him, he’s got a message from Steve.

**Steve: Sorry about that. Something unexpected. I hope i didn’t take it out on you. C u mon?**

Bucky grins at the message. If anything, at least he knows Steve wants to keep clearing the air between them. Even if this time there’s no real reason to apologize. 

**Bucky: No worries. Mon it is. Thanks for today, buddy.**

He hits send and then thinks at the last second that the _buddy_ in there might be a bit too familiar. But it must be okay since Steve texts back a bunch of kissy faces that make the golden rays of the afternoon sun glow that much brighter.

***

Things change after that. It’s subtle, but Bucky can feel it. Little things. Like Steve giving Bucky high-fives in the hallway whenever the pass by one another. Texts that he’ll send to Bucky--silly jokes, memes, random messages checking in. He’ll sometimes show up at Bucky’s locker between classes to goof around. That one’s Bucky’s favorite.

Whenever Steve comes around like that, he’s the most carefree Bucky sees. Like he’s forgotten there was ever a time they didn’t speak. And he’s still got the same amount of energy he had when he was a little kid. Even first thing in the morning. Whether it’s just his natural energy or he’s consumed a gallon of coffee, Steve’ll come bounding over with this big smile on his face and attach himself to Bucky. Hands on his shoulder or arms around his waist. 

“Officer Bucky!” he’ll exclaim. “Good morrow to ya!”

Every now and then, he’ll throw on a fake brogue with his greeting. From what Bucky remembers, he sounds just like his mother. Which is probably why he nails it so well. Steve’s grown up hearing it. 

Sometimes, he shows up with a frappuccino from Starbucks--made to Bucky’s specifications. The first time he did this, Bucky asked him how the hell he got his favorite drink right. Steve just wiggled his eyebrows and told him that he had his ways. 

Though Steve still sits with only Peter Quill at the end of a table away from everyone else in the cafeteria, Steve’ll grin and jerk his chin in greeting. 

Lunchtime has actually become something of an awkward situation for Bucky. It used to be the period he looked forward to the most. The only break in the day he has. A time to be with his friends. But now, whenever they’re all piled in the cafeteria and his friends are all goofing around together, Bucky has trouble not watching Steve and Quill. 

Because they’re always so chummy together. So comfortable. Laughing with each other. They’ve even held hands in the hall. Bucky can’t help wondering if they’re a couple. Not that Bucky believes two guys can’t hold hands without being a couple. Hell, he and Steve held hands on the way to Bucky’s interview and they’re most definitely not a couple. 

Being in the cafeteria, at least, gives Bucky more opportunity to be with Natasha. With all the extra time he’s been spending with Steve -- and Bucky’s well aware that people’ve noticed -- he doesn’t really want to have to come up with excuses for why. 

Sure, the _reasons_ should be good enough. Peer Mediation -- which Bucky still hasn’t told anyone about. Tutoring -- which Bucky has told his friends about. Around school -- which anyone can see. 

That doesn’t stop assholes like Rumlow and Hodge and their group from making their nasty comments. At least the season is over. Less time Bucky needs to be with them. There’s still the locker room, though, and since they all share the same gym class, he’s gotten an earful. 

_Why’re you hangin’ around a freak like him so much for?_ _You a homo, too? Did Romanoff turn you gay?_

Of course, there’s been more colorful words and phrases and questions being tossed around. All things that make Bucky’s stomach turn to ash and rot. 

Bucky’s just… he exhausted. He's so tired of hiding. Of pretending to be someone he’s not. Worst of all, this costume he’s designed for himself is to mask something that just shouldn’t matter. After all, he’s certainly not the only queer student in the school. Not even in his class. 

Sam’s got a boyfriend. Peggy and Angie have been together for a while now. Billy Kaplan’s out and, well, Bucky thinks proud. Steve is bisexual; not out by choice, but it’s common knowledge now. Clint came out to him as asexual. Loki is genderfluid. 

They all seem to be doing pretty well. From what Bucky can tell, anyway. Maybe he shouldn’t assume that. He has no idea if that’s actually true or what’s going on in their heads. He just wishes he had the nerve to be himself. Or even if he could just _say_ it out loud to someone. The way Clint did with him. 

“Hey! There he is!”

The yell comes from the side as Bucky stands at his locker at the end of this long, grueling Wednesday. He’s had tests in three of his classes, a speech to deliver in public speaking, his term paper only got an A-minus, and during lunch, he couldn’t stop staring at Steve sitting on Quill’s lap until Mr. Pierce had something to say about it. To make matters worse, those two are the ones headed for him now. Arm-in-arm. Quill’s the one who shouted. 

“There he is,” Steve agrees. “My favorite officer of the law.” He twists his lips and amends that. “The only officer of the law I trust.”

Bucky folds in the smile that immediately tries to lift up on his lips.

“Officer?” Quill asks. “What’s that mean?” 

Eyes still on Bucky, Steve just smirks and says, “Private joke.”

“Mm. Whatev, bro. This is where we part. _You_.” He pinches Steve’s face between his fingers before pressing a dramatic kiss to his cheek. “Behave. And I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Before Quill puts his earbuds in and dances away, Steve snorts and rolls his eyes at him. Even adds a punch to his arm. That makes Quill laugh and pretend to hit him back as leaves. 

Bucky’s not entirely sure what they’re doing here. Or what Steve’s still doing here. They don’t have anything planned for today. Peer mediation meetings are Mondays and Fridays, and Steve usually comes over Tuesdays for tutoring. 

“What’s up, Steve?” he asks. “You need something?” 

Steve holds his index finger up. “Yes!” But he doesn’t expand on that. He simply stands there, still holding that finger up. 

“Well?” Bucky chuckles. “What is it?” 

“Okay, so, here’s the thing,” Steve says. “I _can_ do a still life for the final piece in my portfolio, but I’m allowed to do a portrait and I’m just not all that into painting bowls of fruit, so I was wondering if I could paint you, you can totes say no, don’t feel bad, but I didn’t wanna go ahead and start if you weren’t okay with it.” 

Oh, wow. Wow, that’s a whole lot of new information to process at once. Bucky blinks at Steve as he goes through it piece by piece. Final piece to his portfolio. Can be still life. He’d rather do a portrait. Wants that portrait to be of… _Bucky_. 

“I’m…” Bucky shakes his head. “Confused.” 

Steve snickers. “You’re adorable.”

“What?”

“Can I paint you, Bucky Barnes?” Steve clarifies. “You don’t gotta pose or nothin’. I can do it from memory. And it’s not, like, in the nude or anything like that. No one else has to see it.”

Bucky’s still confused. None of this makes any sense.

“But… why would you want to paint me?”

Eyebrows lifting, Steve tilts his head as though the answer to Bucky’s question should be very clear. Unfortunately, Bucky must be looking through frosted glass. This only makes Steve smirk.

“Geez, Bucky, I dunno. Maybe it’s just cause you’re pretty much the most beautiful person I know.” 

“ _What_?”

Bucky doesn’t mean for that to come out so high-pitched and squeaky, but it does and it has Steve doubled over in laughter. It also makes a few stragglers in the hall with them stare at Bucky. Which includes Helmut Zemo, a buddy of Batroc which means he’s associated with Rumlow and Hodge as well. He and Bucky catch eyes, but Bucky hurries to swing his attention back to Steve so that he doesn’t notice Zemo at all. 

“You really are adorable, Bucky,” Steve says just as Zemo walks by them. By the way his eyebrows quirk up, Bucky’s sure he heard. “So, how ‘bout it?”

Steve doesn’t mention his comment and Bucky can’t tell if he really meant that or not. 

“Can I… ask you something?” Bucky shakes his head. “Ah, which you totally don’t have to answer; I was just curious. If I’m being rude you can just tell me to shut--”

“Bucky.” Steve chuckles. “What’s your fuckin’ question, dude?” 

“Oh. Uh.” He scratches the back of his head. Realizes he’s been rambling. “Well, it’s just… you and Quill…” 

When he doesn’t go any further than that, only because Bucky can’t figure out how to ask a simple question, Steve’s eyebrows flick up. 

“What about us?”

This shouldn’t be so hard to ask. There’s no reason for Bucky to be nervous about the answer. It doesn’t matter. 

“Ah, it’s just… wouldn’t it be more appropriate to paint _him_?”

“What?” Now it’s Steve who looks confused. “No? Why?”

“Aren’t you two, y’know, a _thing_?” 

For some reason, Steve finds this question to be absolutely hilarious. He laughs so hard that he actually hugs his arms around his body.

“A thing? Me and Star-Lord? What the hell would give you _that_ idea?”

Just all the flirting and hand-holding and affection, but then, maybe that’s not how Steve does things in a relationship. Or maybe they don’t matter to him. Or maybe… maybe… 

“I dunno,” Bucky mumbles. “You two seem… close.” 

The only reason Bucky knows he’s looking down at his feet now is because Steve leans over to get in his view. Without actually lifting his head again, Bucky flicks his gaze to meet his. Finds Steve pursing a grin at him. 

“Are you jealous, Bucky?” Steve teases with his lips still pursed like that. “Do I have to tell Natasha that I’m gonna steal her man?” 

Snorting, Bucky shoots back up and playfully pushes Steve away. Though he doesn’t push hard at all, Steve dramatically slams back into the lockers and flings his arm over his eyes. 

“You’re such a punk,” Bucky chuckles. “Do you… really think I’m beautiful?” He only gets another smirk in answer to that. “Uh. Well, if you’re serious… I guess that’s okay.”

“To paint you or to think you’re beautiful?” 

“T-to paint m-- or, both? What?” Bucky starts fumbling over his words. “What the hell, Steve? You’re the worst.” 

Steve flashes a big, silly grin at him before nudging him in the ribs -- just enough that it tickles and Bucky yelps a giggle -- and then winking as he leaves. When he’s gone, and it’s just Bucky in the hall, he realizes that he’s still not completely sure if Steve wants to really paint him. 

Which is why Bucky goes straight to Steve’s locker the next morning instead of his. With both Clint and Natasha because he can’t think of a single excuse to give them to go alone. Steve sees them coming before they reach him. When he does, he throws his palms up to them. 

“It wasn’t me,” he says. “I swear. It was all him.” 

Bucky points to himself. “Me? What’d I do?”

Instead of answering Bucky, Steve throws an overly innocent look at Natasha of all people. 

“Whatever she wants to kick my ass over. It’s his fault.” 

Natasha grins at this. 

“Oh,” she singsongs. “I’m sure it was.” 

Shocked by the accusation -- though, really, he shouldn’t be -- Bucky gasps. He’s just as innocent as Steve is in all this. Actually, probably more. Steve’s the one throwing him under the bus for something that probably hasn’t even happened. Just adding more fuel to the fire, Clint laughs and jostles Bucky by the shoulders. 

“You’re in trouble now, kid!” 

“I don’t even know what I’m being accused of!”

Natasha laughs and presses a soft kiss to his cheek. A normal act of affection between them, but for anyone on the outside it probably looks more romantic than platonic. But when she does it, Steve’s eyes drop and his feet shuffle along the floor. 

“So.” Steve clears his throat. “What brings you this to this neck of the woods?” 

“We’re not sure, actually,” Natasha says. “This one diverted from our normal routine.” 

“Which is weird,” Clint adds. “Because this guy sticks to routine like glue.” 

“Oh, that’s not true!” Bucky insists. “I just like things a certain way.” 

It’s not even the routine that matters so much. It’s more about avoiding the unexpected. Even though the unexpected is all he’s been living these days. This thing with Steve, whatever it is, is way more than unexpected. 

“Well then, James,” Natasha says. “Why don’t you tell us why you’re gonna make me late for my first class?” 

Bucky snorts. “Not my fault you tagged along.” He gets a pinch in the arm for that and chuckles when she rolls her eyes. “We just… we never really finished what we were talking about yesterday.”

“Which part?” Steve asks. “The part where I asked if I could draw you or the part where I called you beautiful?” 

Face burning with a blush, Bucky smothers it in the palms of his hands just as Natasha and Clint whip their gaze at him. 

“You didn’t tell us that!” Natasha exclaims. “Are you gonna do it?”

“Yeah,” Clint says. “You are very pretty.” 

Steve just stands there with his arms crossed as he giggles at what he’s caused. A chain reaction of sorts. Bucky blushing and his closest friends teasing him seem to be a great deal of amusement for him. 

“Why’re you doing this to me?” Bucky asks him. “Huh?”

“I told you.” Steve closes his locker and leans against it. “You’re adorable.” His eyes flick back to Natasha. “I’m totally not hittin’ on your guy.”

Natasha shrugs. “I dunno. You two might make a cute couple.” 

Before Bucky’s body, mind, even his heart, has a chance to react to that statement, someone else does. 

“Pft, won’t that be nice. A new pair of homos thinkin’ they’re special snowflakes.”

That nasty remark comes from Rumlow, who’s standing across the hall with Hodge and Batroc. They’re all sneering at them. Eyes hard and full of ridicule. 

Steve’s gone completely rigid, his entire body singing with tension. Somehow, and Bucky’s not sure how, he’s holding himself back. Every inch of him is screaming and yet he hasn’t yelled or gone after them. 

“Go fuck yourselves,” Clint says. 

“Preferably,” Natasha adds, “far away from us. Your presence is both irritating and disgusting.”

“Fuck you, bitch,” Hodge fires back which only makes Natasha bark a fake laugh.

“Your wit is astounding.”

“You heard what Zemo said?” Batroc asks his friends without taking his eyes off of Steve. “About what Rogers did yesterday?” When the others only shrug, a sneer curls up on his lips. “Said he was all over Barnes. And that Barnes was totally diggin’ it.”

Bucky’s stomach twists. Did it really look like that? Is Bucky really _that_ transparent? The one thing he’s been trying so hard to hide and it’s out there for everyone to see. Except, apparently, him.

“What the _fuck_ , dude,” Clint exclaims. “ _You_ are a piece of shit!” 

“Aw, why?” Rumlow mocks. “Did someone’s feelings get hurt?”

Next to Bucky, Steve’s knuckles are white. His fists tremble. The flames in his eyes are hot enough to burn down the entire school. Afraid he might do something rash and get himself in trouble, Bucky places a hand on his shoulder. An anchor of sorts. He’s not alone here. Amazingly, he doesn’t shake Bucky off.

“What the hell do you want, Rumlow?” Natasha says. “Because we have better things to do than to listen to the inane nonsense that comes out of all your mouths.” 

“Yeah, really,” Clint picks up. “If I wanted to hear an asshole, I’d’ve farted.” 

The ridiculous comment makes both Bucky and Steve laugh. Steve’s laugh, however, is strained. 

“You’re freaking hilarious, Barton,” Batroc mutters. “A real goddamn comedian.” 

“He is, isn’t he?” Bucky replies. “You don’t find good humor around here very often.”

“Watch it, Barnes,” Rumlow grumbles. “Or we’ll let the whole school know you were gettin’ off with that sick freak of a mama’s boy over there.”

Everything happens in a blur. Steve screams something at them; Bucky can’t understand what. He goes to leap at them, fists up and ready to hit whoever he reaches first, but doesn’t get anywhere since Bucky slams him back against the locker. Steve struggles against the hold. Yells and swears at them. Demands that Bucky let him go. But he can’t do that. If he does, Steve’ll get in trouble. He’ll get expelled. He’ll get sent away again.

Not that it matters, though. While Bucky holds back a swearing, hollering Steve, Clint _does_ throw a punch. Lands his knuckles at the side of Rumlow’s face. When Hodge steps forward, Natasha plants her feet firmly on the floor and Hodge gets a hard enough jab to the face that he topples over. 

Someone shouts that there’s a fight. Of course, this only makes everyone start chanting and circle around them. Wade Wilson is suddenly in the mix of the whole thing, pulling Batroc away from Clint so that it’s no longer two against one. 

Teachers come bolting down the hall toward them. Among those teachers, is Mr. Pierce. His call for everyone to break it up alerts them that they’re coming and almost all of them sprint away. The only ones remaining when Mr. Pierce pushes through the crowd are Hodge and Wade.

“You two,” he says when his eyes fall on the pair of them. “My office. Now.” His gaze shifts to Steve now. “You, too.”

Steve’s eyes go wide. “What? Why? What’d _I_ do?”

“I knew I’d get you one of these days. Let’s go.”

“But… but, Mr. Pierce,” Steve says, and Bucky’s pretty sure that’s the first time he’s addressed him so formally. “I didn’t do it! I swear I didn’t! Please, don’t do this. _Please_.”

Lip trembling, Steve’s breaths begin to back up on him. Tears fill his eyes. He even whimpers and Bucky’s heart just about breaks. He wants to say something. To fix this. To erase that terrified look in Steve’s eyes. A look that a few people still crowded around them snicker at. 

“You’re done here, Mr. Rogers,” Mr. Pierce says. “And the rest of you _get_ to class. _Now_. And _you_.” He snags Steve by the back of the shirt. “Let’s go.” 

A few tears slide down Steve’s cheeks as he’s hauled away to Mr. Pierce’s office. Where he’ll probably be told he’s officially being expelled. Then… well, Bucky’s not sure how the procedure goes from there. 

“Did you see him? He looked like a little animal.” 

Someone trills a giggle. “Who? That Steve guy?”

“Yah. So friggin’ extra.” 

“And then he was _crying_.”

Bucky doesn’t know who’s talking, but they go on dissing Steve like that. Steve. Even though he wasn’t even involved in the fight. He certainly wanted to be, but Bucky had held him back. In fact, once the rumble was really underway, Steve stopped fighting back and just watched. Just like Bucky did when Mr. Pierce pulled Steve to his office. 

No. No, Bucky can’t let this happen. Steve can’t get in trouble for something he didn’t do. He didn’t even start in with those goons. Instead of going to class like instructed, Bucky takes off for the last office he wants to step foot in. 

When he gets there, Hodge is standing outside with Dr. McCoy, the guidance counselor. Whatever they’re talking about is no nevermind to Bucky. He doesn’t even pause. Inside the small waiting area outside the office, Wade Wilson sits in one of the hard, plastic chairs. Slouched down and completely relaxed. Talking. To himself. 

“It was a fight. It was a great fight. Got to knock around a shit ton of spoiled meat bags. I should go out and get myself some chimi-fucking-changas tonight. Oh, yeah. I’ll be suspended or something. I think the little guy got more to worry about than me.”

When Wade turns his head to look at the secretary that’s just shushed him, Bucky sees the Bluetooth in his ear. He’s not talking to himself. He’s on the phone. Spotting Bucky standing there, Wade jerks his thumb to the closed door. Probably where Steve is. Bucky thanks him and then gets a thumbs up.

Not bothering with any formality, Bucky just bursts through the office door without even knocking. He’s not in there with just Steve. Thankfully, Mr. Coulson is there as well. Steve, sitting in the chair opposite Mr. Pierce, holds back hysterics. 

“ _Mr_. Barnes,” Mr. Pierce scolds. Voice hard and heated. “What do you think--”

“It wasn’t Steve,” Bucky interrupts. “It was me. I did it. I was in the fight, not him.” 

Everything goes still. Steve. Both Mr. Coulson and Mr. Pierce. Even the morning holds its breath in waiting. 

“Bucky, what’re you saying?” Mr. Coulson asks. 

Bucky swallows hard. “It was me. I started the fight. Steve had nothing to do with it.” 

“Please,” Mr. Pierce grumbles. “You’re not gonna tell me you believe--”

“Steve.” Mr. Coulson looks to Steve for confirmation. “Is this true?”

Rather than looking at them, Steve hasn’t broken eye contact with Bucky since the moment he came through those doors. 

“I…” Steve’s voice cracks just around that one little word. “It all… it all happened real fast. I dunno what happened.”

So like Steve. Bucky should’ve seen the moral dilemma this would bring to him. No matter how much he doesn’t want to be punished for something he didn’t do, he also doesn’t want someone else taking the blame when they didn’t do it either. But Bucky’s feeling brave today. He’ll take the blame so that Steve doesn’t have to. 

“Well.” Mr. Coulson wipes his hands together. “I guess that’s that. Wouldn’t you say, Alex?” 

There’s a vein bulging at the side of Mr. Pierce’s neck. His carotid artery, if Bucky’s not mistaken. An indication of intense anger. And yet, if Bucky hadn’t noticed that one little thing, he’d have no idea how angry this makes him. No wonder he can fool everyone. 

“I suppose it is.” As the Dean of Students, it’ll be Mr. Pierce who decides how this should be handled. “I’ll be calling your parents, Mr. Barnes. And you can spend the rest of today and tomorrow in the ISS room.”

That’s not so bad. He can handle an In-School Suspension. The calling his parents part probably won’t be the best thing in the world, but he’ll find a way to deal with them. This was the right thing to do. He knows it was. 

“You can both go now.” Mr. Pierce hands them both passes to where they need to go. “Someone will be by the ISS room to bring you your work, James.”

“Uh, why don’t you take Steve to the nurse?” Mr. Coulson suggests. “Give him a chance to wash his face and calm down a bit.” 

The tears may’ve stopped, but his cheeks are still stained with their tracks. Not to mention the big gulps of air he keeps trying to take into his lungs. Looks almost painful. Bucky puts a hand on Steve’s shoulder and Steve slowly gets out of the chair so that Bucky can take him to the nurse. 

“Are you okay, Steve?” Bucky whispers as they leave the office.

“Why…” Steve struggles with more air. “Why’d you do that?”

“Cause you didn’t do anything.”

“N-neither did y-you.”

“Yeah, but-- Steve?”

He’s suddenly clutching the bottom of Bucky’s shirt as if his life depends on it. All his weight falls forward and if Bucky wasn’t holding onto him, he’s pretty sure he’d hit the floor. 

“I can’t… Bucky, I can’t… breathe…”

“Where’s your inhaler, Steve?” Panic spikes through him, but he remembers this much. “I’ll get it for you.”

There’s no time for that, though. Just as the question fall off his tongue, Steve’s eyes are rolling into the back of his head. He does drop to the floor now, his body becoming sudden dead weight in Bucky’s attempt to keep him upright. 

“Steve!” Bucky shouts as Steve’s body begins to convulse right in front of him. “Help! Someone help!”

Only mildly aware that people’ve responded to his cries for help, Bucky falls to his knees next to Steve while his limbs jerk around. Drool leaks out of the corner of his mouth. The front of his pants dampen. And it doesn’t stop. 

It just goes on and on and on and nobody is doing anything to help him and Bucky doesn’t understand why. _Why_ is no one helping? Every time he tries to do something, he can’t. Something holds him back and Bucky can’t figure out what it is. 

“Bucky! Bucky, c’mon, it’s okay!”

He glances over his shoulder just to size up whoever’s behind him so he can shove away and get back to Steve. That is, he would if the person behind him wasn’t Ms. Danvers.

“Help him!” Bucky yells. “Please!”

“They are, Bucky,” Ms. Danvers says. “Look.” 

When he looks back again, the nurse is kneeling at Steve’s side. There’re still tremors running up and down his limbs, but all that violent shaking as finally stopped. 

“What… what’s…” Bucky can’t get it out without choking on every breath he tries to take. “What’s hap-happening?”

“He’s having a seizure.”

“A… seizure?”

“He has epilepsy, Bucky,” she tells him quietly. She probably shouldn’t at all. Maybe she just needs to help him calm down. “He’ll be okay.” 

EMTs are now coming through the hall, telling people -- students and teachers alike -- to please step aside. Bucky doesn’t even know when the hallway got so filled. Where all these people came from. The nurse is telling the EMTs things. Probably about Steve. All his disabilities. Lists of medications. She hands over Steve’s inhaler while they fit him for an oxygen mask. 

Everything is happening so fast now. Just a few seconds ago, time dragged on and on, and now Bucky can’t keep up with it. 

“Where… where’re they…” Steve still isn’t awake when they load him onto a gurney. “Where’s he going?”

“They’re gonna take him to the hospital,” Ms. Danvers tells him. “Don’t worry. He’s gonna be fine.”

People are still watching. Murmuring about everything that’s happening. Bucky even hears someone mention Steve’s pants being wet and laughing about it. His hands curl into fists. If he finds the person making fun of Steve he doubts he’ll be able to control himself.

“C’mon, kid,” Ms. Danvers says once Steve is wheeled away to be brought to the ambulance waiting for them outside. “Let’s get you to where you need to be.” 

Bucky, wiping at his eyes, nods and grabs his backpack from off the floor. Before leaving with Ms. Danvers, he notices that Steve's is still there as well. So he takes it. He’ll get it back to him. 

“I heard you were in a fight,” Ms. Danvers says as she walks him to ISS. “Was it worth it?”

Bucky tries to smile but doesn’t have the strength to right now. “Yeah.” 

“Good. That’s the best reason for a fight. Here.”

She hands him a tissue. He wipes his face with it. Blows his nose and crumples it up in his hand. 

“Is Steve really gonna be okay?”

A grin touches her mouth. “He’s a tough kid. He’ll be good. You gonna be okay?”

Nodding, Bucky sniffles again and looks into the room where he’ll be spending the next two days. He grimaces, remembering what Steve told him about walls creeping in on him. 

“Yeah.” Bucky nods again. “I’ll be good.” 

“Sure.” She holds her knuckles out for a fist bump. “That’s cause you’re a tough kid, too.” 

Bucky’s not sure if tough would be the word used to describe him right now. All he feels like doing in falling apart. Like he’s being yanked in all different directions. His heart is still pounding when he takes a seat in the middle of the room. He still has that tissue in his hand. It’s a silly, childish notion, but he thinks if he holds onto it tight enough, he’ll get through today without having a nervous breakdown. 

He’s got a feeling, though, that only seeing Steve -- rested and okay -- will make this better. Because right now, all Bucky can see every time he closes his eyes, is Steve’s body convulsing on the floor like his life was desperate to rip itself out. 


	11. Opening Doors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which secrets are revealed

Time is hard to keep track of in this stupid room. It shouldn’t be. There is a clock, but it’s located on the back wall and anytime Bucky tries to look at it he gets told to face forward again. He’d check his phone only it’s up in the front of the room with the seven others taken from the rest of the suspended kids there with him. After the first bell, Bucky’s forgotten what period they were up to next. For all he knows, the day’s almost done. Then again, it may’ve only just started. 

This, of course, only makes it that much more difficult to concentrate on the work they’ve brought him. Ms. Danvers had been kind enough to be the one to bring it down. There’s something to do from every class. In fact, it’s a pretty full packet. Bucky wonders if maybe all the teachers always have something prepared for things like this. 

When Bucky first got here, he’d been given a speech on responsibility and that all actions have consequences. Which he supposes is true. He’s just not certain what that’s got to do with him. Except for the part where he’s told that if he doesn’t follow the rules in the room -- which include silence among the students and respect to the teachers taking their time to be there -- or if he doesn’t complete his work in a timely matter, he’ll be given another ISS. After that, it’ll be an At-Home Suspension. Bucky doesn’t plan on making this stretch until Monday. All he wants is for this fucking day to hurry up and end already so he can find out if Steve’s all right. 

At some point, while he’s in the middle of trying to do his math work, the nurse comes in and asks him to come to her office. There, she checks to make sure there’re no injuries to him. No cuts or bruises or a concussion. Which Bucky could easily tell her she’ll find nothing but then that would mean admitting he lied about being the one in the fight. 

At least getting to go to the nurse’s office gives him the chance to see what time it really is. His heart sinks when he does a double-take upon seeing the clock. It’s only a quarter past ten. Fourth period isn’t even halfway through yet. Bucky has no idea how he’s going to make it through another five periods of this. 

To make matters worse, he doesn’t even know how to go about finding out if Steve is okay. Sure, he can text him, but that doesn’t mean Steve’ll answer. This was nothing like the close-call they had when they were little. Bucky didn’t even know that Steve was epileptic, let alone ever saw him have a seizure. He wants to see with his own eyes that he’s okay. It’s a need buried deep within his soul. 

Bucky can’t do that, though. For one, he doesn’t know what hospital Steve's been taken to. He has no idea if he’ll still be there by the time school gets out. If he’s not, Bucky just hits another wall. He still has no idea where Steve lives now. 

But then, on his way back from the nurse’s office, he’s struck with an idea. There is _one_ person who might have the information he needs. He also knows where to find him. 

“Excuse me,” Bucky says softly with an added knock on the doorframe. “Ms. Okoye?”

Ms. Okoye doesn’t look startled by the interruption of her World’s Politics class. In fact, she looks more miffed that someone has the nerve to interrupt at all.

“What is it, Mr. Barnes?” 

“Um.” Bucky clears his throat. He hates it when teachers look at him that way, but Ms. Okoye is one of those cut-throat teachers who’s also really funny in that no-nonsense way. “I was just wondering if I could talk to Peter.” 

When he says that, Quill, who’s seated in the far corner, drops his feet off the back of the desk in front of him and onto the floor. He points to himself and mouths the word _moi_? 

Ms. Okoye looks between them and waves her hand toward the door. Taking that as his cue, Quill gets up and comes toward Bucky.

“Thirty seconds, gentlemen,” Ms. Okoye says when Quill is out in the hall with Bucky. 

“How’s it goin’, Bucky Barnes?” Quill asks. “Heard ya kicked some ass and took names today.” 

“Yeah, that’s not exactly what happened. Clint and Tasha did a lot more name taking than me.” Bucky shakes his head. This isn’t what he came here to talk about. “Listen, do you have Steve’s address?”

“What?”

“Do you know where he lives?” Bucky clarifies. “I got his stuff and I wanna bring it to him after--”

Before Bucky finishes his half-lie, Quill is holding his palms out and backing away toward the classroom.

“Whoa, hey now.” He shakes his head with a chuckle. “I’m not about to sign my own death warrant.” 

“Does that… does that mean you don’t know where Steve lives?” 

“Can’t help ya, bro.”

Quill twirls on his heels and sorta moonwalks back to his seat. No one pays much attention to him as he does. Ms. Okoye doesn’t even pause in her lecture. Bucky, on the other hand, throws his head back in frustration. There goes his one hope of tracking Steve down today. He supposes that Sam or Peggy might have the information he’s looking for, but Quill was definitely his best bet and he shot him down. 

Not to mention, he can’t exactly go traipsing around the school to each of their classes trying to get Steve’s address. There’s only so long he can be out of the ISS room before they begin to realize he’s no longer at the nurse’s office. 

Out of options, Bucky sighs and goes back to the ISS room where he waits and waits and waits for the day to come to an end. Hodge is in there as well. Seems he doesn’t always get off with a slap on the wrist. Well, to be fair, compared to being expelled like Mr. Pierce would’ve done to Steve, an ISS is a slap on the wrist. Just because Hodge and the rest of them can weasel their way out of trouble all the time doesn’t mean they don’t cause it. 

Every now and then, Bucky’ll glance over in his direction. Sometimes, Hodge catches him. Whenever this happens, Hodge’ll throw an obscene gesture his way. Bucky just rolls his eyes and goes back to trying to concentrate on the work he’s supposed to be getting done. 

Wade is also there. Any time Bucky looks at _him_ , he grins. Bucky’s not entirely sure why he got involved at all, but he is grateful. Even if he jumped in just because he hates Rumlow and those guys as much as Bucky and his friends do, it’s good enough. 

At noon, they’re allowed to have lunch. Right there in the same room. These monotonous hours might be more tortuous today because Bucky can’t stop thinking about Steve, but he can’t imagine it’d be much better even without that extra concern. If this is even a piece of what Steve experienced, well, the thought just rocks through Bucky’s body. A supernova. Something once so bright and brilliant exploding before disappearing forever. 

Maybe that’s why Steve went out and got himself pierced and tattooed. To be noticed again. To stand out against the crowd instead of hiding within it like Bucky does. 

By the time the last bell is ringing, Bucky almost darts out of there in a rush to see Steve again. Until he realizes, again, that he still has no way of doing that and gradually comes to a halt. For a moment, he just stands there in the middle of the main hallway, blocking traffic. A few people shove by him. Others have rather unpleasant things to say. 

“Bucky!” 

He turns around at the sound of his name, right into Natasha throwing her arms around his neck even though it’d been Clint who called him. 

“What the hell happened?” Natasha asks. “How’d you end up in ISS?”

“Yeah, dude,” Clint says. “We ran, but you weren’t there. And you had nothing to do with it anyway so what the fuck?”

“And what happened to Steve?”

“Yeah, spill the tea. People are sayin’ some shit.” 

Bucky sticks his fingers in his ears, trying to block out all the questions coming at him at once. Two hands gently rest upon his shoulders. He opens his eyes. Lowers his hands. 

“I had to stay,” Bucky explains. “I told Mr. Pierce and Mr. Coulson that I started the fight.” 

“Wait, what?” Natasha shakes her head. “Why would you do that? You could’ve just told him you didn’t know who started it.”

“No, I… Mr. Pierce was blaming Steve. He was gonna expel him. I couldn’t let that happen.” He sucks in a ragged breath. “And then… Steve… he had a seizure.” 

“Holy shit…”

Both of them say this in their own way. Bucky can see the shock and concern flash upon their faces. He wonders if he’s looked anything like that all day. 

“Is he okay?” Natasha asks. “Did he…”

“What’re people saying?” Bucky asks. “I swear to _fuck_ \--”

“Don’t listen to what they’re saying about it,” Clint says. “They’re not worth it.” 

The fight from this morning might not’ve involved him -- physically, anyway -- but he’ll throw down if anyone is mocking Steve for what happened. The thought of it starts a fire in his stomach. Liquid hot magma that pours down his throat and spreads to the rest of his body. His fingers curl into tight fists. Nails digging into his palms. 

“James,” Natasha murmurs. “C’mere. Let’s get outta the middle of the hall.” 

A bottle of water is shoved into his grip. Opened. Apparently, they think he should take a drink. Bucky does it without thinking about it. 

“Don’t worry about everyone else,” Clint says. “It’s just the normal assholes. Just tell us about Steve. Is he okay?”

“I have…” Bucky forces down a sob. “I have no idea. Maybe? They took him to the hospital.” 

“Have you texted him?”

As soon as he got his phone back, yes. A frantic plea to Steve asking if he’s all right. All it says under the message is that it’s been delivered. Not read. He can’t go home yet. Chances are, his parents -- at least one of them -- will be waiting for him. Who knows what the hell Mr. Pierce told them. In no way is he ready to deal with them yet. Not without knowing if Steve is safe. 

“He hasn’t--”

“Hey, _Barnes_.” Jaw grinding, Bucky slams his eyes closed when Dottie Underwood of all people single him out. “Heard your homo friend forgot how to use a toilet today.” 

Bucky _almost_ screams at her. Anything. Every name in the book. Cursing her to hell. Any insult he can think of. 

Before he can, Dottie topples backward and into Rumlow’s arms with her hand cradling the side of her face. She bolts upright again. Despite how elegant and pristine she presents, she’s actually more than capable of handling herself in a physical altercation. Rumor has it, she’s put more than one guy in the hospital before just for looking at her the wrong way. 

That doesn’t stop Natasha from throwing that right hook. Or from keeping that stance and challenging Dottie when she’s standing straight again. 

“Who the _fuck_ do you think you are, Romanoff?”

“Better than you, Underwood.” 

“If you think--”

“That’s a funny way to pronounce _know_.” 

“ _Fuck you_.”

“Believe me.” Natasha smirks. “You’re way below my standards.” 

That makes Dottie growl and charge forward, and if it she’d gone after anyone else, that left cross would definitely land perfectly, but Natasha’s movements -- graceful and fluid -- have her simply sticking out her foot and tripping Dottie. She’d slam right into the lockers if Natasha didn’t snag the back of her shirt and fling her into Rumlow’s arms again. 

“Get her outta here,” she says to Rumlow. “Before she looks like a bigger fool than you did this morning.” 

“I’d do what she says Rumlow.” From behind them, Sam and Thor are approaching. Thor’s the one who spoke. “If you don’t, I’m very sure you’ll be looking just as foolish twice in one day.” 

More people come toward them. Some of Rumlow and Dottie’s friends. Batroc and Zemo. But so do Peggy and Sharon with Loki right behind them. Bucky’s pretty sure another fight is about to break out when Quill of all people suddenly appears between them all. Singing. Dancing. Horribly on both accounts. 

“What the hell’re you doing?” Batroc mutters. 

“Hadda say sorry to Barnes, here.” Quill twirls in place and stops in front of Bucky. “I wanted to help earlier, but.” He shrugs and goes to give him a high-five. “No hard feelings, right?” 

When he slaps his hand in Bucky’s, he drags it across his palm and leaves something there. Without giving Bucky the chance to reply -- Bucky barely even registers that he’s given him a piece of paper -- Quill simply dances away again. 

The paper in Bucky’s hand is folded. He holds in a gasp when he opens it and sees what’s scribbled on it. An address. Quill’s given him an address. Bucky can only assume this is exactly what he’d asked for earlier. This ridiculous conflict here in school doesn’t feel all that important anymore. 

“I gotta go,” he says, clapping Clint on the shoulder and remembering at the last second to add a peck to Natasha’s cheek. “This is more important than these assholes.” 

“Anything’s more important than these assholes!”

Bucky’s too far away to be able to tell which one of his friends actually said that last part, but he does appreciate it. That appreciation has him pretty much sprinting across town. He gets turned around more than once. This isn’t an address he recognizes. It’s a good distance away from the school, too. Which isn’t all that unusual. There’re students enrolled in their school from Queens, Manhattan, even Staten Island. 

For some reason, Bucky just thought Steve living in the same neighborhood as him. He doesn’t know why. So many things have changed and Steve’s already stated several times that he moved. 

By the time Bucky’s getting off the subway, he’s got two texts and a missed call from his mother. Bucky sighs and doesn’t bother answering with any more detail than to tell her he’ll be home in a little bit. Of course, that gets another text demanding he come home right away, but he ignores that one. For now. 

He’s much more concerned with getting to Steve’s. To see for himself that he’s okay. He’s got his excuse to get there. Steve’s bookbag held tightly in his grip. 

When Bucky finds himself in the right spot, it takes him a moment to figure out which direction to go next. He passes storefronts and bodegas and little restaurants before getting to the right block. 

The building Bucky’s looking for is smack in the middle. It stands out a bit from the rest of them which are somewhat shabby and rundown. Graffitied on the front and broken windows. But this place looks pristine. Red door. Flower Boxes outside the windows. Trash cans sparkling. Not a speck of dirt on the front steps--like it’s swept and washed every day. Windows streak-free. From what Quill’s note said, Steve lives on the main floor. Next to the buzzer for the main floor, though, doesn’t say Rogers; it says AFFC. 

Bucky has zero idea what that means so he hesitates before finally pressing it. It buzzes a few seconds later and Bucky pushes the door open. In the foyer, he’s met by a woman who’s most decidedly _not_ Sarah Rogers. 

The woman has short and curly dark brown hair. She’s not as pale as Sarah; there’s a rosy tinge to her cheeks even at the end of winter. A set of coffee brown eyes assess him behind thin glasses.

“Who are you?” she asks. 

“Um. My name’s Bucky.”

“Uh ha.” She folds her arms. “Which one’ve them are you here to see?” 

Bucky doesn’t understand what she means by that. Maybe Quill just sent him on a wild goose chase. Gave him some random address just for shits and giggles. 

“I, uh, I go to school with Steve?” He lifts up Steve’s backpack. “I brought his things.” When she holds her hand out to take it from him, Bucky doesn’t hand it over. “Um… I was just wondering if he was okay?” 

She makes a noise in the back of her throat; one Bucky can’t really decipher. Still, she steps aside and gestures for him to follow. There’s a welcome mat just outside of and to the right of her door. There’re a bunch of shoes on it. 

“Wait here,” she tells him, and leaves him in the foyer, shutting the door behind him.

Bucky can hear people talking on the other side of the door. Not what they’re saying. He’s only standing there for maybe a minute when the door opens again. This time, Bucky’s face-to-face with a man. A very big man. Barrel-chested. Tall with such broad shoulders he barely fits within the doorframe. His face is somewhat square-shaped. He’s completely clean-shaven. Even his dark hair is in a buzzcut. His deep-set, honey-colored eyes bear right into Bucky. Hard enough it makes Bucky want to cringe away even though he hasn’t done anything. 

“You’re here for Steve?” he asks, voice deep and husky.

“Y-yes.” Bucky swallows hard. “Sir.” 

“We don’t normally allow visitors,” he says. “Given the circumstances of today, I suppose we can make an exception.” He holds a thick finger out to Bucky and then points into the place. “You will go to the boys’ room _only_. Straight down the hall, second bedroom to the left. Leave your shoes here. Make this quick. Steven has an appointment with his therapist in a little while.” 

“Okay,” Bucky whispers.

The man nods, accepting Bucky’s answer, and then walks away. Confident that Bucky will listen to his rules. Not just because this man is intimidating on sight, but to not cause any problems for Steve. 

After leaving his shoes by the door as requested, Bucky goes the direction he pointed. On the way, he goes through a living room with tiled floors. There’re two girls sitting on the couch reading. Neither of them look up as he goes by. Attached to the living room is a kitchen. Pretty big for being combined with another room. Two boys sit at the long, rectangular table in the same sort of chairs attached to the desks at school. Looks like they’re doing homework. Silently. 

Nothing feels homey about this place. There’s something very institutional about it, like it’s a spiffy hospital or even a detention center. All the walls are splashed in white paint and the air has a slight chill and silence hangs over the whole place. 

When Bucky reaches the hallway, he almost feels like he should hurry up and rush past the girls’ room. Like even being near it is somehow prohibited. He can’t help himself as he goes by the door, though. His eyes slide that way and see a pink painted room with three sets of bunk beds. There’s another girl in there; on a top bunk with earbuds in her ears. 

There’s a bathroom across the hall, but between the two rooms hangs a laminated sign. Actually, more than one. Bucky doesn’t know if this is allowed, but he stops to read them. These, _House Rules_ , apparently. 

**Schedule :**

**Out of Bed**

**Weekdays: 06:00**

**Weekends: 08:00**

**Breakfast**

**Weekdays: 06:30**

**Weekends: 08:30**

**Lunch**

**Non-School Days: 12:00**

**unless given permission to eat elsewhere**

**Supper**

**Weekdays: 18:00**

**Weekends: 17:00**

**Curfew (for only children 16 and older)**

**Weekdays: 21:00**

**Weekends: 23:00**

**Lights Out**

**Weekdays: 21:30**

**Weekends: 23:30**

** Rules **

**Show respect to House Parents at all times**

**House Parents will be addressed as Ma’am or Sir**

**When asked to do something the correct answer is Yes, Ma’am/Sir followed by immediate obedience**

**All chores/homework/assignments must be done before free time (Check weekly schedule for your chore)**

**Any snacks must be asked for and given out by a House Parent**

**Boy/girl interaction never allowed in bedrooms/bathroom**

**No swearing**

**No yelling**

**No physical contact of any kind**

Bucky stops reading there. He can't really wrap his mind around this. He's not stupid. This place is obviously a foster home. 

Just like that, everything falls into place. Why Steve pulled away. Why he disappeared. Where he went. Cause there's no way that Sarah Rogers' would lose custody of Steve. There's no way she'd give up custody. There's only one reason for Steve to be in foster care.

Sarah Rogers is dead.

And Steve's been on his own all this time.

Glands swelling, Bucky tears his eyes away from the signs--not bothering with the rest of the rules and not daring to glance at the _consequences_ sign. He makes his way to the room at the end of the hall. 

This one is painted blue, but other than that there's not a stitch of personality. No posters on the walls. No pictures. No television. None of Steve’s art. Not one thing looks out of place. There are two plain dressers--all of the drawers are marked with a name. Looks like they get two apiece. The two desks that’re in there are facing the wall. Like the other room, this one also has bunk beds. Unlike the other room, this one only has two. 

All the beds are made -- they remind Bucky of an army barracks even though all he has to go on is what he’s seen in movies -- except for one. That’s where Steve is. Asleep. With an oxygen tube in his nose. 

This isn’t the first time Bucky’s seen him in such a state. Back in the fifth grade, Steve came down with a bad case of pneumonia and ended up in the hospital. He was awake, though, when Bucky came to visit. Now he looks… he looks so fragile. So delicate. He’s so pale and his breathing, even with the oxygen pumping through, is still slightly labored. Bucky just wants to hold his hand. Even goes to but remembers that last rule he read. The one about no physical contact and instead of risking whether or not that applies to him, too, he places Steve’s bookbag next to his bed and just stands there. Watches him sleep with this horrible pain in his throat and fighting back the urge to cry. 

“Who’re you?” 

Heart flying to his throat, Bucky spins around to see someone standing just inside the room with him. He kinda looks like Steve. Hay colored hair. Eyes robin’s egg blue. He’s even got hooped piercings going up both ears. Much taller than Steve, though. Taller than Bucky as well. He’s broad around the shoulders. Thick arms. Watches Bucky like he suspects him of something. 

“Um, I’m Bucky,” he tells him. “I’m a friend. Of Steve’s. A friend of Steve’s.” 

He takes a closer look at Bucky and then, Bucky thinks, looks at him with sudden recognition. He crosses the room. Headed to the bunk bed further into it. 

“Right. You’re the guy in the pictures.” He sorta grins at Bucky but that grin doesn’t really spread to his whole face. “I’m Teddy. You go to school with Steve, right?” 

Bucky tries to keep his voice down in an attempt not to wake Steve. “Yeah.”

“You know Billy Kaplan?”

Teddy doesn’t seem all too worried about waking him. 

“Uh. Yeah. He’s a cool guy.” 

That makes Teddy smile a little more. “Yeah. Yeah, he is, isn’t he?”

“Wait,” Bucky says, still lowering his voice. “You said pictures? What pictures?” 

Teddy, who’s climbed up to the top bunk of the other set of beds, gestures under his own bed and then points to Steve’s.

“Steve’s secret stash.”

Bucky’s not sure if this an invasion of privacy or not, but he still takes a peek. He’s not sure what he expected, but it’s certainly not what he finds. There’re pictures taped up on top of the upper bed. Not taken recently. Or, well, not all of them. There is one of Steve on Sam’s back. Looks like a candid pic. Another is a photo of him and Peggy at the homecoming dance two years ago. He’s got one up of him and Quill. Looks like it may’ve been Halloween. A costume party at least cause Steve is dressed as Rapunzel and Quill, Bucky guesses, is dressed as Flynn Ryder. 

The rest of the pictures are old. Steve is just a kid in them. Even a baby in some. Most of those are with his mom. Two of them aren’t. Those two are of him and Bucky. Bucky remembers when they were both taken. 

The first was Bucky’s birthday, which is why there’s frosting smeared all over his face. Courtesy of Steve. The picture was snapped when they were both laughing uncontrollably and Steve flung his arms around Bucky from behind. It was Sarah who called their attention, which is probably why Steve has the picture. The other was taken just before Steve started to change. They’re sitting on the swings at the playground. Only swaying a bit. Steve is looking down at his untied shoelaces. Bucky is smiling at Steve. Natasha took that one.

“I don’t understand,” Bucky whispers, though Teddy is hardly the person who can fix this confusion. “Why does he have pictures of me?” 

“I dunno. I figured it was cause you guys’re so close.” 

“Close?”

“Aren’t you? He talks about you all the time.” 

Bucky’s gaze drops to Steve. “He does?” 

“Yeah. Ever since he got here.”

That makes no sense. Steve got here three years ago and only started talking to him a little more than two months ago. He’d have no reason to talk about him. 

“Shit,” Teddy mumbles. “Guess I should’t’ve told you that.” 

“S’okay,” Bucky murmurs. “I won’t tell him. I’m just… confused, is all.”

“You don’t have to keep your voice down like that, y’know. They gave him a sedative at the hospital. He’ll sleep until they wake him up.” 

The hospital. That is why Bucky’s come here, after all. To check up on Steve after he had a seizure right in from of him. He just thought he was coming to the Rogers’ home. A home built out of love and tenderness and compassion. Not four walls held up by rules and restrictions. 

“He’s okay, y’know,” Teddy says. “This isn’t the first seizure he’s ever had.”

“I didn’t even know he got ‘em at all,” Bucky mumbles. “I had no idea he was epileptic.” 

“He’s on meds for it.” Teddy scoffs at his own words and picks at something on his bed. “We’re all on meds for shit. But he usually only gets them when he’s real stressed about something.”

Stressed. That means what happened today was a lot more stressful than Bucky could’ve ever imagined. This is the fallout from it. 

“Is… is his mom…” Bucky’s throat hurts. The truth is all around him. If he’d only been paying closer attention then maybe he’d’ve figured this out already. “Is she…”

“I dunno if I should be the one telling you this,” Teddy says. “But…” 

He doesn’t need to say any more than that. The truth burns through the air. It’s painful. Constricting. The whole world crumbling down on him. Bucky almost puts his hand down again. Remembers just shy of a touch that he’s probably not allowed to do that. 

“Go ‘head,” Teddy says. “You can hold his hand.”

“I thought--”

“It’s a stupid rule,” he grunts. “Like the rest of ‘em.”

Bucky probably should get going. That man did say that he was only allowed to stay to drop off Steve’s things. Still, he places his hand gently over Steve’s and holds it as careful as a heartbeat. 

Afraid to overstay his welcome, Bucky excuses himself just a few minutes later. When he does, it’s with a request from Teddy to tell Billy that he says hello for him. Bucky assures him that he’ll pass the message along and can’t help wondering how the two of them know each other. It’s not from school. Teddy doesn’t go there with them. Neither do the rest of the people from the house. At least, Bucky doesn’t recognize any of them. 

Once he’s officially on his way home, his phone is going off again. Bucky still doesn’t particularly care about it. He’s still trying to wrap his mind around everything that just happened. All that he just found out. Some of it just raises more questions. 

What happened to Sarah Rogers? Steve said he moved but was that because she was sick or did it happen because she died? This still doesn’t explain why he’d be sent away to a home. 

One thing Bucky does know is that Steve’s been dealing with this on his own all this time. Maybe Quill knew Steve’s address, but Bucky’s sure he doesn’t know everything. Steve’s always held his heart close to his chest. Thing is, he never had to. Bucky would’ve been with him to the end of the line. 

He still would.

If Steve’ll only let him. 

***

“Where the _hell_ have you been?” 

Just as Bucky figured, he’s yelled at before he’s even fully in the door. He sighs as he fixes the strap of his bag over his shoulder. 

“Not now, Mom,” he mumbles. “I’m really not in the mood.” 

“Oh, _you’re_ not in the mood?” She gives him an irritated bark of a laugh. “I wasn’t exactly in the mood to be told my son’s school was on the phone in the middle of a board meeting because he’d started a _fight_ first thing in the morning.”

Massaging the spot between his eyes, Bucky grunts something incoherent and rolls his head back.

“I _know_ ,” he replies. “I get it. I can explain. But later…”

“ _No_. Not _later_. _Now_ , young man.” 

Bucky rolls his eyes. Actually rolls them at her. Which is a huge no-no and he knows he’s being completely disrespectful but he just can’t help it. Everything is just so… so… _wrong_. 

“You know,” she says, “I don’t like this new attitude of yours.”

“Look, Mom, I’m--”

“It’s that Steve Rogers, isn’t it?” Bucky’s gaze flies back to her. “Ever since he started coming around, you’ve been acting different.” 

Fists clenched and jaw locked, Bucky’s eyes grow hard. He keeps his gaze firmly on the floor, afraid of what he might look like if he looks at her. 

“That has _nothing_ to do with this.” 

Maybe it does. All Bucky’s time with Steve might have changed him. A few weeks ago he probably wouldn’t’ve taken the blame for something that he didn’t do. He definitely wouldn’t be talking to his mother this way. Now that he’s started, he can’t seem to stop. 

“All I know is that--”

“You _don’t_ know what you’re talking about!”

The outburst is accompanied by Bucky flinging his backpack across nearly half the room. 

“James Buchanan Barnes!” she exclaims. “I don’t know _where_ this is coming from, but you’re going to knock it the hell off, _right now_.”

“Steve did nothing wrong!” Bucky shouts. “Nothing! It’s not fair to blame him! He didn’t do anything wrong, he _didn’t_! It’s not his fault and it’s not fair!” 

Bucky’s repeating himself now. To be honest, he’s only vaguely aware of what he’s saying at all. All he keeps thinking about is the fact that Steve’s been all alone in this world for years. Because his mom died. One of the nicest people in the world and she died. 

“It’s not fair,” Bucky whispers, and abruptly starts crying. “It’s not. It’s not fair.”

This is completely ridiculous, but once he starts, he can’t get a grip. The crying quickly turns into all out sobbing. It hurts his chest every time he tries to heave in another big gulp of breath. 

He somehow finds himself wrapped in his mother’s arms. Whether she wrapped him in them or he stepped into them, Bucky’s not sure, but he’s weeping into her shirt while she tries to soothe him. 

“It’s okay,” she murmurs. Again and again. “It’s okay, honey. It’s okay.” 

That’s the thing, though. It’s not okay. None of this is okay. There is no world in which this could possibly ever be okay. He’s just spent the past few minutes yelling at his mother when, really, he’s just eternally grateful that he can hug her like that. That she can hold him in her arms and tell him that everything is okay even when it’s not. 

“Okay.” His mother steps back and presses a soft, motherly kiss to his forehead. “Why don’t you go upstairs and lie down for a bit. We can talk about this later. Okay?”

Face tear-streaked and lip trembling, Bucky sniffles and nods. He wipes at his cheeks and adds one last hug around his mother’s waist before making his way upstairs. There, he flings himself on his bed and buries his face into his pillow to just scream into it. And screams again and again until his throat is sore. 

When that finally happens, he rolls onto his back and just stares up at the ceiling. His eyes are swollen. Nose, puffy. Makes it tough to breathe. 

This is so ass-backward it’s ridiculous. Instead of comforting Steve -- which Bucky’s not so sure he’ll want -- Bucky’s just falling apart at home. He doesn’t even know if he should text Steve. Just to ask if he’s all right. It wouldn’t be unusual for Steve to be ticked off by the fact that Bucky found out the truth. Or pieced together some of it. 

Outside, the sun has set. Bucky’s been up here long enough that dinner’s already been served and still no one’s come to bother him. It’s only a matter of time. 

The knock at the door, which comes just minutes later, almost makes him laugh. Bucky sits up with his legs over the side, wiping his arm across his eyes. 

“Come…” Bucky clears his throat. “Come in.” 

The door opens slowly, and the first thing he sees is the peanut butter and onion sandwich that his mother’s brought him. There’s a tentative smile on her lips as she fully steps into the room with that plate of food and a glass of milk. 

“Hey, sweetie,” she greets, softly. “Hungry?” 

Bucky wipes under his nose, sniffles, and nods. Whispers, “Yeah.” 

First placing the glass on the nightstand, she hands the plate to him and sits beside him on the bed. She gently rubs her hand over the back of his neck. Just like she did when he was younger. 

“You wanna talk about it?”

The sandwich has been cut in half. Diagonally. Bucky picks up one half and takes a bite out of it. Chews. Swallows. Clicks his teeth. 

“I didn’t get into the fight,” he murmurs. “I was there, but I wasn’t part of it. I just said I was.” 

“And…” She hesitates. “Why would you do that, Bucky?”

“Cause they were blaming Steve. And Steve didn’t do it either.” 

“So you took the blame for him?”

“They were gonna expel him if I didn’t.” 

She doesn’t reply to that right away, but Bucky can tell she’s turning the idea of Steve’s expulsion over in her mind. 

“Because of one fight?”

“Well… no.” Bucky fiddles with his fingers. “Steve… sorta has… a record.” 

She tries not to react, that much is clear. Must be something of an instinct to have some sort of negative response. Whether it’s judgemental or protective, Bucky’s not sure. 

“If he has a record, then maybe--”

“No.” He shakes his head. “No, it’s not… he hasn’t done anything wrong. I mean, yeah, okay, he was in those other fights, but… he didn’t _start_ them. Steve _doesn’t_ pick fights.” Bucky breathes a snicker. “He’s too dumb to back _down_ from one, but that just makes him… I dunno…” 

Someone Bucky’d follow to the ends of the earth and back again. A long time ago, Bucky thought he’d been Steve’s protector. His shield from the world and its cruelties. Now, he’s not so sure it hasn’t always been the other way around. 

Which makes a whole new round of tears sneak up on him again. Bucky hastily wipes under his eyes before they can get the better of him. 

“Somethin’ bad happened, Mom…”

***

The following day, Bucky’s In-School Suspension is virtually the same as the day before. He ignores Hodge. Gets a fistbump from Wade. And then just keeps his head down as he waits for the day to end. 

Because he’s stuck in that same room the whole time, Bucky has no idea if Steve’s even in school or not. For all he knows, he’s stayed home. Or not come in, anyway. Bucky hopes he is. They’re scheduled to meet this afternoon. Given what happened yesterday, though, the very second the bell rings, Bucky flies out of his chair and sprints to Steve’s locker.

A few people try to grab his attention as he rushes through the hall but Bucky ignores every one of them. The only ones that would get him to even pause right now would be Natasha and Clint. Both of them know that something’s going on which is why they haven’t tried to contact him beyond a few texts since he left school yesterday and they wouldn’t get in his way now. 

Relief pumps through Bucky’s body when he rounds the corner and sees Steve at his locker in the middle of the row. It’s still open and it looks like Steve is stuffing a textbook into his bookbag. He’s got his hood up and possibly earbuds in his ears. Makes it easier for Bucky to approach without Steve noticing.

Not that Bucky particularly wants to sneak up on him, but he is worried that Steve might make a break for it if he spots him. Which is why Bucky slows his pace and reaches Steve just as he closes his locker. That hood must keep Bucky hidden just enough that Steve still doesn’t pay any attention. Not until he turns toward Bucky and faces him completely. 

When that happens, Steve gasps. Takes a step back, wide-eyed and startled. He even swears.

“Jesus.” 

“No, it’s _Bucky_ ,” Bucky says, just like Steve had done to him several weeks ago when he’d startled him in a very similar manner. “But we’re always accepting new members.”

Well, that made life a little easier. Bucky had zero idea how he’d approach Steve after what happened, but to open it this way, he hopes, is better than any other option. It must be. At least a little bit since Steve scoffs a chuckle and lightly rolls his eyes. 

“You’re funny.” 

“Mm.” Bucky takes in the tension and the way Steve’s holding himself in. “You weren’t gonna try to bail on me, were you?” 

Gaze fixed on the floor, Steve’s eyebrows flick up. He adjusts the strap of his backpack over his shoulder. From what Bucky could see, it hadn’t been slipping. 

“I was seriously considering it,” Steve replies. “But I guess that’s not happening.” Without lifting his chin, Steve’s eyes meet Bucky’s. “I, uh, thanks. For what you did yesterday. You didn’t have to.” 

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Neither did you.” 

“It would’ve been wrong,” Bucky says. “If I let you get expelled. Knowing what I know.” 

What he doesn’t say is that Natasha and Clint would’ve both confessed to being part of the fight if they’d known that Steve had been swept up with the other guilty parties. Without even a second thought. 

Steve does lift his chin now. 

“I don’t want pity, Bucky.”

Maybe Steve tries to get his voice hard and firm when he says this but if that’s the case he falls short. Instead, his voice wobbles. He means it, yes, but it sounds as though he’s afraid. 

He’d rather people look at him the way they’ve been for the past few years -- like he’s reckless, a troublemaker, someone up to no good. At least that’s all just a front. A farce he puts on to hide himself from the rest of the world. He’ll take that over having them look at him the way they did when he was younger. Someone weak. A nuisance. Broken. He didn’t need special treatment then and he doesn’t want it now. 

“I don’t pity you, Steve,” Bucky says. “I didn’t when we were little. Why would I start now?” 

Steve tries to hold his gaze but drops it after just a moment. He shifts his weight. Shakes his head and shrugs. 

“I know you…” Steve’s voice drops. “I know you _know_. I know you were there yesterday.” 

Bucky takes a moment to fully look at Steve. He looks completely wiped. Shouldn’t be surprising after yesterday. Under the hood -- which is pushed back a bit now -- his hair is messier than usual. There’re a few bags under his eyes. Bucky can see that even with Steve wearing his glasses. Those baggy sweats look comfortable but also scream _dressed in a hurry_. If Bucky didn’t know any better, he’d say that Steve even looked paler. 

“Come on.” Bucky tugs on Steve’s sleeve to get him following. “Let’s go.”

“But… the library’s…” 

Back in the other direction, yes. That would matter if they were going to the library. Today, they’re most decidedly not. 

They end up in Bucky’s room. The only ones home at the moment are Miss Agatha and Sophia. The rest of his siblings have after school commitments so they won’t be home for another hour or so and Mom and Dad won’t be home for another two, at least. This makes it easier for Bucky to have his door locked. Not that anyone would really question him having his door locked with Steve in the room. If Natasha was over, it’d be a completely different story. 

“So,” Bucky says when the door is closed. 

“So.”

Bucky clears his throat. “So’re you okay?”

“Me? Sure. Other than the comments people’ve been making about me pissin’ myself in school and not even bein’ able to defend myself otherwise I’ll get expelled, yeah. I’m good.” 

Fire ignites in Bucky’s stomach. It doesn’t take a genius to figure who started spreading that bit of information around and why it sounds like something other than what it is. 

“I’ll let people know,” Bucky offers. “What really happened.”

“And let everyone know that I have epilepsy.” Steve sighs. “Sorry, it’s not your fault. It’s just--”

“It shouldn’t be anyone else’s business,” Bucky assumes and assumes correctly since Steve nods. “You’re right. It isn’t anyone’s business. Just tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it.” 

A scoff rolls out of Steve’s mouth. He sits on that spot on Bucky’s bed. It welcomes him back like a friend that’s been gone too long. 

“I dunno. They’re your friends.”

“Hey, wait a sec.” Bucky comes closer. “None of _my_ friends are the ones talking shit. People who I’m friends with wouldn’t.” 

Steve lowers his head. A few seconds later, he nods, still looking at his legs which are in a pretzel on Bucky’s mattress.

“Right,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.” 

It’s quiet for a few moments, except for the elephant that keep trumpeting a horrible sound over and over again.

“So…” Bucky clears his throat when he can’t take the silence any longer. “Can we… talk about it?”

Steve’s eyes flick to meet Bucky’s. Surprisingly, they hold that contact. “What do you wanna know?”

Everything, of course, but for now, Bucky’ll be willing to accept whatever bit he’ll share with him. 

“How?”

Steve’s eyes lower again. 

“Mama started to lose her appetite,” he murmurs. “By the time they caught the cancer it was at Stage Four already.” 

A lump grows in Bucky’s throat. 

“What kind?” he whispers. 

“Lymphoma. They started chemo but…” Steve needs a moment. “It was too late.”

“When did she--”

“A few days before my birthday.” 

It’s a good thing Steve’s not looking up right now otherwise he’d probably have something to say about the tears that fill Bucky’s eyes. They burn as Bucky does everything he can to hold them back. 

“And that’s why you had to move,” Bucky says. “Not because…” 

He doesn’t finish that and Steve doesn’t answer. Nothing needs to be confirmed with words; Bucky already knows. Steve didn’t move because he and his mother were relocating. He moved because he didn’t have any family left. Because he was shoved into the foster care system. 

“You could’ve told me, Steve,” he murmurs. “You didn’t have to be alone.” 

Still looking down, Steve sniffles and shrugs and, from what Bucky can tell, squeezes his eyes closed. He then clears his throat and finally looks up again.

“So, you came by the house yesterday,” he says, face not totally clear of heartache, but he sure is doing the best he can to keep it neutral. “Charming, aren’t they?”

Although Bucky wants to comfort Steve, wants to hug him and tell him how sorry he is for what’s happened, it’s not as though he can actually force him into receiving his sympathy. Doesn’t look like Steve’s going to be saying much more on the subject of his mother’s death anyway. 

“Uh, yeah.” Bucky clears his throat. “They’re your… your foster family?”

Steve scoffs a laugh. “Foster families were a piece of cake compared to them. No, that’s a group home I’m stuck in.” 

“So,” Bucky says, remembering the anagram by their buzzer. “AFFC is…?

“Adoptive Foster Family Coalition.” 

“Do you really have to follow all those rules?”

Eyes rolling, Steve drops back on the bed now and rubs his eyes under his glasses. He lets out a loud, ugly groan when he moves his hands away from his face. 

“Like our lives depend on it. Why do you think I…” 

That unfinished statement can mean so many different things. Why he keeps everyone at arm’s length. Even further sometimes. Why he comes across as so angry so often. Why--

“Wait.” Bucky’s just thought of something else. “Is that why Mr. Pierce hates you? Just automatically?”

“N- well, sorta. I wouldn’t put it past him. But it’s because I’ve got a record.”

“Like, a criminal record?”

“Well, I don’t mean a permanent record.” Steve sorta smirks at him like his wise-ass remark is just that when it’s anything but. “It’s supposed to be sealed when I turn eighteen. If I don’t get into any more trouble.” 

“What kind of trouble?”

Pushing up on his elbows, Steve gives Bucky a pointed look. Probably because Bucky can figure this one out on his own. 

“Behavioral problems. Fighting.” His eyes flick away from Bucky’s. “I got into more fights than I can remember. It was… I was in a bad way, Bucky.”

Bucky sits next to Steve now. Places a hand over his knee. Steve glances at the contact but doesn’t try to move. He, in fact, sits up. This new position makes them very close. Their arms actually brush together.

“I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this,” he says, softly. “But you’re doing a good job, Steve. I think you’re doing the best you can and that’s all anyone can ask.”

For a moment, Steve just stares at him. Stares as though the last thing he’d ever expected was someone complimenting him in such a way. Diamonds sparkle in his eyes. Not from tears, but from simple awe and wonder.

“Bucky…” Steve whispers, and then shocks the hell out of Bucky by pecking him on the lips. 

The second their lips touch -- no matter how fleeting -- the sun shines brighter. The air feels lighter. All the noise in Bucky's head goes quite. 

A second later, everything comes rushing back in full force. 

Steve's eyes are wide as saucers. He gasps with his fingers over his lips. Shaking his head he quickly moves away.

"I'm sorry," Steve breathes. "Oh, Bucky, I'm so sorry; I shouldn't've done that. I--"

Bucky doesn't give him the chance to finish that. He takes hold of his cheeks and plants another kiss. This one is longer. Firmer. Borders right on the edge of passionate. Until Steve suddenly shoves away from him.

"No." Steve shakes his head. "No, you're… you're straight and you're with Natasha. And I'm sorry I let my feelings for you get the better of me but…"

Bucky loses the next few of Steve's words. His mind goes blank except for one thing. 

"You…" Bucky hesitates. "You have feelings for me?"

Steve falls silent. Blinks. Tries to say something a few times before shaking his head.

"N- I… no… I didn't… I mean." Steve flies off the bed now and paces in place. "Whatever, it doesn't matter." He scoops his book bag from off the floor. "I should go. I have to go. I'm gonna go."

He keeps saying it but doesn't actually move for the door. Everything is wrong. For one second it'd been right. More right than Bucky ever dared to dream and now it's all crashing down around him. 

"Steve…" Bucky tries to say something. "Please, don't freak out."

"I really should go." He won't even look at Bucky now. Steve does, however, look at the door. He even starts for it. "I'll… I'll see you later."

Bucky flies off the bed now. He can't let Steve leave this way; he just can't. So, he says the first thing that comes to mind.

"I'm gay, Steve!" The words spring from his throat like a flower from the snow. "I'm gay."


	12. The First Step Out of the Closet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky and Steve discuss their feelings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **trigger warning for _minor_ sexual content**

Well, yes.

Yes, that does stop Steve. Not only does it keep him from getting any closer to the door, but it also makes him go completely still. Bucky himself has stopped breathing, so he can’t imagine what Steve’s feeling. The whole room has tensed. Every molecule freezes as it waits for whatever’s going to happen next. Which turns out to be Steve slowly turning back around. The way he looks at Bucky now, Bucky can feel the shock and surprise radiating off of him. Bucky so badly wishes Steve would say something -- _anything_ \-- but even he can’t get his mouth open again. 

Steve’s gaze drops and Bucky thinks for sure that he’s going to pass out if this silence goes on for much longer. But then Steve glances back up with his eyebrows pulled together. 

“So.” The word crashes the quiet like a brick through a window. “Does Natasha know?” 

No judgment. No disgust. Just a simple, very logical question. Bucky gets out one nervous bark of a laugh before dropping down onto the bed. He smothers his face into his palms and doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or cry or scream. Maybe all three. Still covering his face, Bucky nods.

“Yes,” he whispers into his hands and thinks a second later that Steve may not’ve been able to hear that. Bucky lowers his hands. “Yes. She knows.” 

“Okay,” Steve murmurs “Okay, so.” His expression hasn’t cleared of that bewilderment he looked up with. “Okay. So, you’re… you’re gay.”

“I’m gay,” Bucky repeats. And then has to say it again because finally saying out loud feels like he’s suddenly smashed out of a cage that’s held him prisoner for years. “I’m gay.” 

Something touches his shoulder. Bucky peers up to see that Steve’s come back over and placed a comforting hand on him. 

“It’s okay, Buck,” he says, softly. “You’re okay. _We’re_ okay.” 

“Yeah.” Bucky exhales. Feels like he’s breathing out a slew of emotions with it. “Yeah, I just… I’ve never…” 

The words get all jumbled up on his tongue. Bucky’s not really sure what he’s trying to say anyway. That doesn’t seem to matter to Steve. He just sits next to him and waits patiently for Bucky to sort through all the thoughts that’ve gotten tangled in the messy webs in Bucky’s mind. Steve even goes as far as taking hold of Bucky’s hand. 

“Bucky.” Steve squeezes his hand. “I need you to breathe, baby. Okay? Let out that breath for me.” If not for this instruction, Bucky wouldn’t’ve even realized that he’d been holding his breath. “Can you hear me?”

Yes, actually, he can. Which means he’s heard, distinctly, that Steve’s just called him _baby_. His heart speeds up as he does what Steve’s asked and exhales. As soon as he does, Steve tells him to inhale again. Nice and slow. Bucky takes in a deep breath. Once the air is in his lungs, Steve holds a finger up, indicating he wants Bucky to keep that breath in for a few seconds. When he lowers his finger, he nods and Bucky lets it all out again. 

“Here,” Steve says and offers his hands. “Take my hands. Squeeze when you inhale and relax when you exhale.”

They do this over and over for a few minutes. Until Steve is satisfied that Bucky’s in control of his breathing again. He smiles softly at him. 

“Better?”

Bucky tries to return the smile, but his lips just won’t cooperate. Instead, he breathes out again, hands still in Steve’s, and shrugs. 

“I dunno.” A shiver runs through him. “I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel.”

Steve’s arm slides around his waist. He gives him something of a hug while resting his head on Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky doesn’t know if he’s just trying to comfort him or if he’s close to him this way because he genuinely wants to be. All he knows for sure is that he likes it. 

“No right or wrong way to feel, Buck,” Steve says. “It’s different for everyone.” 

That makes sense. No two people are the same so of course, no two people would feel the same way about this sort of scenario. 

“How did _you_ feel?” he asks, and then remembers, with a horrible pit in his stomach, that Steve didn’t get to choose to come out. He’d been outed. “Oh, I’m… I’m sorry, Steve, I forgot.” 

“Mm.” Steve nods. “It wasn’t your fault.” 

Bucky can remember that day like it happened yesterday. Getting a text from Rumlow that didn’t have to do with a team they were on wasn’t a usual thing. A text with a link to a YouTube video was even stranger. Especially one sent as a mass text. When Bucky clicked it, he didn’t know, at first, what he was looking at. Not until the camera zoomed in more and then he got a full view of Steve Rogers making out with another guy. 

No one knew who the other guy was, but Steve had been easily recognizable. He’d been straddling the guy’s lap and had no shirt on so everyone could see all his tattoos. Even if Steve hadn’t been topless, enough of his face was showing that he couldn’t even deny it was him in the video.

Steve didn’t try to deny it the following week at school. Quite the contrary. He actually came in with his head held high and a smile on his face and said to anyone who mentioned it that he wasn’t ashamed that he got some hot ass over the weekend. The only thing he changed about what people were saying was his sexuality. He wasn’t gay, he said firmly, he was bisexual. 

The video itself got taken down within hours based on child pornography laws. Several people reported it, Bucky included. He never told Steve that. He doesn’t really want him knowing that he saw the video at all. 

“Can I ask you something, Steve?” 

“Sure.”

Steve’s face remains open and patient. This is the first time he’s been so willing to just answer a question, too.

“How, um.” Bucky glances down at their entwined hands when Steve’s thumb brushes over his knuckles. “How’d you… really feel? Y’know… that day?” Steve’s lips set in a line, but he doesn’t look irritated. Still, Bucky feels like maybe he should clarify what he means by that. “It’s just… you didn’t seem upset about it at all. Was that… true?”

Even in the face of a question he probably doesn’t want to answer, Steve doesn’t look away. Not until he actually _does_ go to answer. Steve drops Bucky’s gaze and folds his lips in before sighing. 

“No,” he says with a nervous laugh. “No, I was… I was friggin’ terrified. But I wasn’t gonna let them know that.” Steve closes his eyes and shakes his head. “I won’t ever let anyone think I’m weak.” His eyes pop open again. “Not that I think it’s weak to be in the closet, Bucky, it’s your choice if you wanna--”

“I know, Steve,” Bucky assures him. “It’s just… I dunno, I thought something huge would happen once I said it out loud.”

Maybe the world suddenly breaking out into a song and dance number. People breaking out into a huge round of applause for his bravery. A beautiful glow of light and a chorus of singing angels. 

All exaggerations, of course, but Bucky did think that something would happen. And thinking a bit more down-to-earth, he figures he expected a reaction from whoever he came out to first--and not by a guess as Natasha had made. Steve’s reaction has been so quiet and understanding. Which might be exactly what Bucky needs. Especially when Steve cups the side of his face. 

“Something big _did_ happen,” he says. “I don’t know when you’ll feel up to telling everyone else, but you get to be free with me now. You don’t have to hide in front of me anymore.”

Bucky lets out a shaky breath as a smile touches his lips. Since they’re still sitting so close together, it makes it easy for him to rest his head on Steve’s shoulder this time. When he does this, Steve takes to petting his hand over Bucky’s hair. Feels nice.

“Thank you, Steve,” he whispers. “I never thought I’d be able to get it out to someone.” 

“Thank you back,” Steve replies. “You trusted me enough to tell me.”

Picking his head back up, Bucky’s smile quivers a little. Not like he’s going to cry, though, the urge is there somewhere and he’s not sure why, but for some other strong emotion. 

Like he’s wanted to do for the longest time and didn’t even realize it until this very moment, Bucky reaches over and brushes some hair away from Steve’s brow. 

“You called me baby.”

A blush creeps through Steve’s cheeks as he ducks his head down with a bashful chuckle. He scratches the back of his head and chews on his lip when he glances back up at Bucky.

“Yeah. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Bucky whispers. “I liked it.” 

This sees Steve smiling more. He looks at Bucky with a million thoughts running through his eyes before he finally settles on one. Bucky can see the second it does. It grows larger and larger until Steve clearly makes the decision to share it. 

“Yes.”

Only that doesn’t help at all. Bucky hasn’t asked him a question and he doesn’t know at all what Steve’s saying yes for. 

“I’m sorry?”

“You asked me before,” he says, “if I have feelings for you. The answer is yes.” 

The breath in Bucky’s lungs breaks into thousands of pieces and cartwheel about his body. He’s lightheaded. He never thought about how something like this would feel. Someone -- no, another _guy_ \-- having feelings for him. It’s freeing, really. Except for one thing.

“Since when? When did that start?” 

A crooked smile teases Steve’s lips. He can’t seem to stop smiling as though he’s about to burst into a round of nervous giggles. 

“Forever?” Steve says. “At least, I mean, for as long as I can remember.”

“But… I know you said you didn’t, but you _hated_ me, Steve.” 

An apology fills Steve’s eyes. His lip quivers slightly before he sucks it into his mouth, fiddling with his piercing. 

“I wanted to,” he murmurs. “So I tried to.” 

“Why?”

“Because…” Steve rests the edge of his brow against Bucky’s shoulder. “I knew I wasn’t good enough for you. I never have been.”

Bucky’s heart plummets. That Steve would ever think such a thing is incomprehensible. He doesn’t know how to back down from a challenge. For him to believe that Bucky of all people -- who can’t even get his thoughts organized long enough to be himself with the people that matter most in the world to him -- is worth such a though just makes no sense.

He hates it, too. Hates that Steve feels any bit of self-doubt. Not with all that talent of his. His hatred of bullies. The uncanny ability to defend anyone at any time. Steve should be bursting with confidence. He used to be. Sure, there were his insecurities but those were different. 

These are weeds. Weeds planted by clumsy, uncaring hands and grief and one bad thing after another. They’ve taken root and spouted through him, blocking the sun that used to shine so freely. 

There’s only one thing Bucky can think to do that might fix this. It’s not a permanent solution. More of a Band-aid. But then, Band-aids have worked pretty well for them, so he just goes for it. Bucky cups Steve’s face between his hands and kisses him again. Kisses him good and firm and passionate, Steve’s mouth warm and inviting against his. 

When Bucky, close to breathless and pulse spiking, eases away, he finds Steve’s eyes closed and his lips still slightly puckered. As his eyes open, a soft smile touches his mouth and Bucky brushes a hand through Steve’s hair. 

“How about now, Steve?” Bucky whispers. “Still think you’re not good enough?” 

Steve’s face glows with elation and he flings himself onto Bucky’s lap. The act catches Bucky by such surprise he almost topples back onto the mattress with Steve over him. He manages to catch himself before falling and once they’re right again, Bucky dissolves into a fit of giggles. 

This position makes Steve just a little taller than Bucky and Bucky needs to look up to see his face. Steve is smiling at him. Runs his knuckles gently across his cheek. 

“Can I kiss you again?” he asks. 

Bucky answers that with a kiss itself. This one is unhurried. It's soft. Languid, even. Bucky's never been kissed like this before. He thought, maybe, that kissing another boy for the first time would be strange and different but it's not. If anything, it's more right than any other kisses he's shared. 

So much so that the want between his legs grows stronger and stronger. He can’t recall a time he’s ever become so aroused so quickly before. Something springs to life in his belly. Fireworks. Colorful and sparkling and bright, and maybe that doesn’t make any sense at all, but he feels it so it’s his and he wants to chase it and never let it go. He’s never felt anything like this before. 

Emotions coalesce in his chest. One after another, they collide and begin to blend together, and Bucky can’t pick apart what’s what. All he knows is there’s so much. Almost too much. 

He might even start to cry which is just ridiculous. Kissing Steve feels good and right. Crying while doing it makes no sense, and yet, tears slip from his closed eyes. If Bucky can feel them, then surely Steve can as well. He must, too, since mere heartbeats after Bucky realizes he really is crying, Steve tears away from their kiss. 

“No,” he whispers. “Oh no, Bucky, I’m so sorry, we don’t need to do this. Is this too much? I can move.” Steve nods at his own suggestion. “I’ll move.” 

Before Steve can get off his lap, Bucky takes hold of his hips to keep him where he is. He shakes his head and drops his brow against Steve’s chest. 

“I don’t want you to move,” Bucky replies softly. “I don’t know why I’m crying.” 

“It’s okay.” Steve’s hand pets over Bucky’s head. Comforting. A sweet reassurance that Bucky’s desperately in need of for some reason. “We can just stay like this if you want.”

Bucky doesn’t move. Mostly because it feels nice in this position but also because he’s embarrassed by the tears. They’ve pretty much stopped now and he doubts it’ll happen again. Then again, he didn’t expect them to appear at all. 

Tears or no tears, he feels oddly safe here in Steve’s embrace. Doesn’t matter if he’s several inches taller than the guy or that he can probably toss him over his shoulder with very little effort, Bucky’s found someplace of peace. Where he can be small and vulnerable while being safe and protected.

“Bucky?”

Bucky, not caring much to move out of this comfortable position, answers with a simple, “Hm?”

“Can I ask you something?” Bucky nods. Steve says, “If I’m the first person you’ve actually told, I assume that means you’ve never done anything with a guy before. Sorry, that wasn’t a question, was it?” 

A soft, quiet chuckle rumbles through Bucky’s chest as he glances up at Steve. He really is very beautiful. Strange, Bucky’s never really noticed that before. Sure, he’s been completely taken in by him in the past, but this is something different. The angles of his face and those long, thick lashes. Those lips the color of sin against his pale skin. That dark gold hair that never falls neatly over his head. 

Maybe he’s not someone who would turn heads or make anyone look twice -- a shame, really -- but there’s something special about Steve. It’s his eyes, though, that capture Bucky’s attention now. 

They’re blue, yes, but there’s so much more than a color. For a long time, Bucky thought they were cold as ice. Glaciers. Now he knows, that only the hottest fires burn blue.

They’re stars that’ve fallen from the heavens to grace the world and they’re looking right at Bucky. At first glance, they merely shine but at a closer look, Bucky can see they burn with so much more. The sorrow of grief. Joy of love. Pain of heartbreak. And that fiery spirit that doesn’t know how to give up. 

“What?” Steve asks when Bucky’s gone on staring for definitely too long. “Why’re you lookin’ at me like that?”

“Nothing,” Bucky whispers, and tucks some hair behind Steve’s ear which inevitably falls out anyway. “You’re just very beautiful. Has anyone ever told you that?” 

Steve releases a high-pitched sound. Something between a laugh and a scoff, Bucky thinks. Whatever the sound is, it’s definitely filled with ironic humor. Complete disbelief. 

“Yeah, okay.” Steve shakes his head. “I think today’s been too much for you. You’re obviously not thinking straight.”

“How can I be,” Bucky answers. “I’m gay, remember?” 

For one second, Steve freezes. The next, he bursts out laughing and drops his head onto Bucky’s shoulder again. Bucky wraps his arms around him. Holds him close. When Steve’s like that, he presses a kiss to Bucky’s neck. 

“Oh, Bucky Barnes.” He snickers. “What’m I gonna do with you.” 

“Stay,” Bucky whispers. “I hope.” 

In Bucky’s arms, Steve goes very still. He’s possibly even stopped breathing. For a heartbreaking moment, Bucky thinks he’s crossed a line he didn’t even know had been drawn. But after just a few seconds, Steve’s body relaxes again and he exhales softly. His warm breath hits the spot between Bucky’s neck and shoulder. 

“Do you wanna try something with me?” he asks. “Nothing crazy physical or anything.” 

“Can I ask you something before I answer that?”

Though Steve doesn’t pick his head up, Bucky can tell that he smiles. “Of course. Ask as many questions as you want. You should.” 

“Yeah, but…” Bucky hesitates. “This might be a little personal so. Um. I was just wondering how much…” Oh, he’s not sure how to phrase this without sounding like an asshole. “Uh. _Experience_ , I guess. That you have.” 

This time, Steve does pick his head up albeit with a lopsided grin on his face. He even crinkles his nose at Bucky before answering.

“Are you asking me if I’m a slut?” 

“What!? No! No, that’s not what I--” Steve’s laughing cuts him off. Teasing. He’d just been teasing him. Bucky scoffs. “You’re such a punk.” 

“I do what I can, jerk. But to answer your question, I have _experience_ with two guys. You don’t know either of them so don’t ask.” Bucky wasn’t going to even though his curiosity is highly piqued. “And, uh, I’ve done, y’know, the basic stuff. And yes, I have gone all the way.”

Bucky can’t help feeling slightly jealous. Not because Steve has such experience, but of those who got to experience it with him. Silly, he figures, even if that does nothing to erase the emotion. 

“H-how?”

Eyebrows pulling in, Steve tilts his head. “Like… the mechanics of it?” 

“Wha-no.” Bucky chuckles. “I mean… y’know, the positions?” 

Steve cracks another teasing grin. “Are you asking if I top or bottom?”

Face burning, Bucky blushes all the way up to the tips of his ears. He never thought hearing such a thing would get such a strong reaction out of him. Apparently, he’d been wrong. 

“I- I guess.” 

“You are so cute, Bucky.” Steve presses a soft kiss to the tip of Bucky’s nose. “I’ve done both. I like both. I top a bit more, though.”

“Why?”

Steve shrugs. “I dunno. I guess, maybe, I feel more in control that way. I like… taking care of my partner. If that makes sense.” 

A smile twitches the corners of Bucky’s mouth. He tries not to so that Steve doesn’t think he’s laughing at him or anything, but his explanation is just so _him_ that it’s hard not to smile. Of course, that’s why he likes it more. Steve’s always wanted to take care of people. To protect them. Keep them safe. So it shouldn’t be surprising that he’d feel the same way about his sexual partners. 

They’ve done nothing more than kiss and already Bucky feels safe with him. Warm, even. Like this is the place he’s always been looking for. He just didn’t know it. Not until he found it. 

“What’d you wanna try?” Bucky whispers.

First cupping Bucky’s cheek in his long, thin hand, Steve eases off his lap and kneels behind him on the mattress. He softly kisses the side of his neck. Both sides. He presses his lips to the back of it, too. Lips still there, he asks another question. 

“Is it okay if I take your shirt off?” 

“Okay.”

“No.” Steve moves just enough so that Bucky can see his face. “Don’t say okay just to say it. I need to know that you’re really okay with it. If you’re not, that’s okay, too.” 

Another smile eases across Bucky’s face. How he could’ve ever forgotten that Steve is this good-hearted he’ll never understand. True, he hid it beneath layers of animosity, a lot of it aimed at Bucky, but Bucky probably could have still seen it if he paid attention. 

Before answering again, Bucky leans in for another kiss. One Steve willingly gives in return. 

“It’s okay,” Bucky says. “I swear.” 

Steve, wearing a sweet, gentle smile, moves back around him and slips his fingers under the ends of Bucky’s shirt. Slowly, he lifts it up and over his head. 

When it first comes off, Bucky thinks maybe he should feel a bit self-conscious. True, he’s been shirtless in front of other boys before, but this is different. This is him vulnerable. This is intimate. 

But it's a fleeting thought, and when Bucky remembers he's with Steve, all traces of it vanish immediately. Steve won't let anything bad happen to him. Bucky's safe with him. He knows that. 

So when the tips of Steve's fingers graze across his bare back, it sends a pleasant shiver through his body.

"Just try to relax," Steve murmurs. "I'm gonna try to get you out of that head of yours for a few minutes."

"What're you--"

"When was the last time you weren't thinking about anything?" Steve asks. "When was the last time your mind wasn't goin' a mile a minute, Buck?" His hands rest over Bucky's shoulders now, his thumbs rubbing out knots he's been ignoring for the longest time. "I know you're stressed the fuck out about Harvard and this scholarship thing. And it must've been killing you to keep this secret from your friends. So, for right now, I just want you to listen to my voice. Can you do that, Bucky? Just listen?”

“Yes.” The answer just comes out of Bucky’s mouth. He never knew how easily he could do such a thing. “Yes, I can do that.” 

“Good.” _That_ makes Bucky’s toes curl into the soles of his shoes and _what_ is _that_ all about? “Try to keep still. Feel my body against yours.” 

Steve still has his shirt on but that doesn’t seem to matter. That thin layer between them does nothing to hinder the sensations he’s causing. Warmth radiates through the spot where their bodies touch. A whimper, much to Bucky’s embarrassment, almost slips from his lips. All from such a slight touch. 

From off his shoulders, Steve’s hands slide down Bucky’s arms. Slowly. Until they reach Bucky’s hands and he places his own over them. Steve squeezes. Just enough to be felt. 

“You feel that, baby?” Steve asks. “That’s me. That’s me holding you. That’s all you think about right now, okay? Just my hands over yours.” 

Somehow, Steve’s words make everything else disappear. All Bucky can feel is their hands. Until Steve’s hands move; this time they trail up Bucky’s chest. 

“That’s it,” he whispers into Bucky’s ear when Bucky’s skin quivers beneath his soft touch. “Focus on that feeling. Listen to my voice. You’re doing great.”

Though Steve doesn’t say to move at all, Bucky can’t help it. Eyes closed and mouth hanging open, his head drops back onto Steve’s shoulder. Which must be okay since Steve chuckles and brushes his fingers across Bucky’s throat. Breaths beginning to back up on him, that need and want and desire from earlier begins to stir again. 

When Steve takes to grazing his lips at the side of Bucky’s neck, his tongue sneaking out just enough for him to feel, Bucky can’t hold the whimper back. 

“There you go,” Steve says. “Don’t hold back. Let yourself feel.” 

Feeling isn’t the problem. Just like Steve wants, all Bucky can _do_ his feel. Nothing else matters right now. Just the sensations running through his body. All rushing between his legs. The air’s grown hot. His heart pounds against his chest. Every muscle in his body pulls taut. 

“Steve…” 

The name barely rolls of Bucky’s tongue. He wants to say more. To just babble out any words that come to mind. 

“Go ahead, Bucky,” Steve says sweetly. “You can talk.”

“Oh my god,” he breathes. “I don’t… I…”

“How do you feel?”

Bucky nods. Realizes that’s not an answer and whispers, “Good. So good.” 

Too good. If Steve’s looked -- and Bucky’s sure he has -- the tenting in his pants is proof enough of that. 

“If you need to,” Steve says, “you can open your pants.” Which means he must see Bucky’s arousal. “Make yourself comfortable. Don’t worry, I won’t touch.” 

Right now, Bucky’s not so sure he wouldn’t mind if Steve’s touched him where he’s implying. If he’s able to make him feel this good barely touching him at all, he can’t imagine what it’d be like if he really did. Still, he’s not exactly thinking straight right now, so he just does as Steve’s told him he can do and undoes the button of his jeans. He lowers the zipper and gives his erection more room. It’s still hidden beneath his boxers, but that alone makes Bucky groan. 

Steve’s fingers then find a nipple. They don’t squeeze or twist, but he does apply enough pressure for Bucky to feel it. He rolls it between his thumb and index finger, pulling a few gasps from Bucky’s throat. 

“I wanna read _War and Peace_.” 

Where _that_ comes from, Bucky has no idea. It just pops right out of his mouth and when he says it, Steve chuckles. 

“What?”

“I dunno.” Steve doesn’t stop what he’s doing. He hasn’t even paused, even after Bucky’s random proclamation. “I just do. I can read it in Russian.” 

“Really?”

“Uh-ha. I don’t even know what it’s about, but I wanna read it just to say I did.”

“ _Donc tu devrais_ ,” Steve murmurs. “ _Impressionnant_.” 

A breath catches in Bucky’s throat. His eyes pop open. He didn’t know Steve spoke French. Assuming that was French. It sounded French. And having Steve whisper something French in his ear makes Bucky’s toes curl. 

“ _Oh, tu aimes ça_?” Steve goes on to say. “ _Dois-je continuer à parler en français alors_?”

“Steve…” Bucky whimpers. “You’re _killing_ me.” 

Steve snickers and nibbles at his earlobe. “ _Au contraire, mon amour._ ”

Fingers slip under Bucky’s cheek as Steve draws him in for a kiss. The second their lips meet, Bucky’s just completely overwhelmed by every sensation. The touching. The sound of Steve’s voice. The kiss. A wave of ecstasy rolls up Bucky’s body, his release spilling into the front of his boxers. Lips still against Steve’s he moans and trembles, much too spacey to care that he’s just come without even being touched. 

For a moment -- or maybe several, he’s not sure -- Bucky can’t seem to find his voice. In fact, he can’t really find much of anything. Everything is all fuzzy. Tingly. Like he’s floating.

There’s nothing scary about it, either. Actually, it’s quite peaceful. It’s quiet in space. And very beautiful. All these stars twinkling around him. 

“Hey, Bucky?”

Steve’s voice, which sneaks in like a silky blanket, is all singsongy. He sounds mildly amused as he tries to get Bucky’s attention. A smile of his own touches his lips. Bucky feels like laughing but he doesn’t know what’s funny. 

“Hm?” 

His reply makes Steve chuckle for some reason. Opening his eyes -- which he doesn’t even realize are still closed until he attempts to use them -- Bucky finds Steve watching him with a pair of dazzling eyes. Just as he thought with his voice, there’s amusement on his face. In the corners of his smile. His lifted eyebrows. 

“You comin’ back to me, Buck?”

Inhaling deeply, Bucky tries to figure out what he means by that. He’s been right here this whole time. He didn’t go anywhere so there’s no need to come back to Steve. This time, when Steve’s chuckles, Bucky responds to him with a scowl. He feels like an absolute baby for making the face, but he can’t help it. 

“Aw,” Steve snickers. “It’s okay; I’m not laughing at you, _mon amour_.” He pets a hand over Bucky’s head and Bucky nuzzles into the touch. “It’s okay if you’re not back yet. Take your time.” 

Bucky tries to answer Steve only he can’t seem to get his mouth working properly. It just won’t form the words. Not that there are really any words that’ve formed in Bucky’s mind to say. None that make sense anyway. Those that have appeared are mostly about the ocean and stars and glitter, and if Bucky does get his mouth in working order, Steve will probably just stare at him like he’s lost his mind. 

“Don’t rush it,” Steve says with another smirk when Bucky pouts at him. Honest to god _pouts_ at him; he can’t even get his expressions to work anymore. “You’ll come down on your own. But, uh…”

Oh no. No, please don’t let him say he’s got to leave. Bucky doesn’t want him to go anywhere. He can’t leave yet. Not like this. Bucky’s hand tightens around Steve’s thigh. Which is how he realizes that Steve is basically holding him. Most of Bucky’s weight is back against him and Steve’s arms are around wrapped around him, legs hanging at his sides. 

“Don’t worry.” Steve kisses the side of his head. “I wasn’t gonna leave. I just wanted to see if maybe you want me to clean you up. You don’t gotta move. I can do it for ya if you want.” 

Now that Steve’s called attention to it, Bucky definitely feels the discomfort he’s referring to. He squirms uncomfortably, the mess in his pants wet and sticky. Somehow -- and he really isn’t sure how -- he responds with a nod. In the back of Bucky’s mind, he knows that this means Steve is probably going to see him completely naked, but he can’t really bring himself to care.

Steve won’t be the first guy to see him naked. Hell, he’s been naked in front of guys in the locker room just a few weeks ago. This will, however, be the first time someone has seen him naked after such an intimate moment. A guy, anyway. 

Bucky, in the year leading up to finally accepting his sexuality, had been a bit promiscuous in an attempt to deny the truth to himself. He’d even earned himself a bit of a reputation. Not a bad one -- he’s got a penis and identifies with that penis so, of course, the reputation wasn’t bad -- but he didn’t like it. Bucky didn’t want to be known as a player or have girls begin to distrust him. 

The ironic part about it was that a few months after he _stopped_ with all the sex, his parents asked him if anything was wrong. Okay, so, they didn’t know about the sex part, but they had realized that Bucky suddenly stopped going on so many dates.

“Okay,” Steve says, softly. “I’m gonna lay you down on the bed. I’m not going far. Not even leaving the room.”

Slipping out from behind him, Steve gently lowers him down onto the mattress. He even gets one of the pillows to put under Bucky’s head. When he moves away, Bucky’s eyes follow him. He believes Steve when he says he’s not going anywhere, but he still feels the need to watch him as he crosses the room for the pile of folded towels on the time out chair. Steve grabs one and tosses it back on the bed before making his way over to Bucky’s dresser. 

First drawer he opens is the top one, correctly guessing where his underwear would be. He selects a pair of fresh boxers and then reaches for the third drawer. He’s right in assuming that’s where pants are, but he’s only going to find jeans in that one and Bucky doesn’t want jeans right now. 

“Bottom one.” 

Steve spins around when Bucky says his whispered instructions. Big, and dare he think, _proud_ smile on his face. 

“Hey, there he is. Look who found his voice.” 

A silly grin of his own pulls across Bucky’s face. It’s accompanied by a silly giggle as well and a heavy blush which sees him smothering his face in his hands. Steve snickers as the drawer opens. 

“Don’t worry, _mon amour_.” For fuck’s sake, if Steve calls him _my love_ one more time Bucky might actually come again. “I’ll take care of you.” 

The touch to his thigh is soft and gentle. Bucky, lowering his hands just so the tips of his fingers are beneath his eyes, peeks at Steve. Steve, who’s given him the courtesy of pretending not to notice him watching, diligently begins to work his pants off him. 

“Lift up a little,” he tells him when they’re just below his hips. Bucky does, and Steve slips them down the rest of the way. “Good job.” 

Bucky’s not ignorant to the fact that his tummy flips and his spine tingles and his heart does a very impressive somersault every time Steve’s told him he’s done well. He likes it. Wants to chase the feeling of doing well; of being good for someone. A praise kink, he thinks it might be called, and now he realizes that that falls under the idea of kink at all and that’s something Bucky never gave much thought to before. Maybe a few fantasies involving some light bondage. Being made to wait. Falling down to his knees and a hand across his ass -- not to make it hurt, really, but just enough to feel the burn and make it all pink and pretty -- and okay, maybe it’s a little more than just a few fantasies. 

Steve, as he does what he’s promised and is cleaning the mess off of Bucky, works carefully. There’s something sweet and tender about what he’s doing. He never actually touches him below the waist other than a hand on his knee or leg, and that’s mostly for balance as he maneuvers the towel around. He’s incredibly good at this. Bucky wonders if he’s had a lot of practice. 

“That’s it, Buck,” he murmurs when he balls up the towel and tosses it to the side. “We’re almost done.”

Steve lifts one of Bucky’s feet to ease the sweats up his legs. When he pulls them up by the waistband, he once again asks Bucky to raise his hips. Once he’s finished, Steve tugs lightly on Bucky’s arm. 

“Come on, you,” he says. “Let’s get you under the covers. I don’t want you to get cold.” 

Now that Steve’s brought it up, Bucky realizes he is getting a little chilly so he nods, says, “okay,” and allows Steve to guide him under the blanket. As he settles beneath it, Steve joins him. 

“You can talk to me, y’know,” he says while he coaxes him to rest his head over his chest. “Not if you don’t want to or if you’re not up to it yet, but you can. Again, I didn’t think you’d go that deep under. I wouldn’t’ve done it if I had.” 

“No. I mean… yes.” Bucky snorts. “I liked it.” Comfortable where he is, Bucky takes to doodling over Steve’s bare chest with the tip of his finger. “What’d you do to me?”

Steve laughs. “You make it sound so sinister. I was only tryin’ to get you outta your head. Had no idea you’d hit subspace just from that.” 

“Subspace?” Bucky doesn’t need an explanation for that; he knows it’s a term used to describe some headspace people go into usually during kinky sex or play. To be honest, he didn’t even believe it was possible. “That’s a real thing?”

“What?” Steve hugs him. Presses a kiss to the top of his head. “Of course, it is. You think people’re making it up?”

“I… well, no. I guess not. It’s just… is that what happened to me?”

“Mhm. How’d you like it?”

First drawing a sloppy heart right over Steve’s, Bucky shifts just enough that he can rest his chin on Steve’s chest. They grin at each other. 

“It felt good. Like… floaty. Like I wasn’t attached to the rest of my body. In a good way. Where’d you learn how to do that?”

“I took an online class.” 

Eyebrows pulling in, Bucky’s just about to ask if that’s true when he realizes Steve is giving him that patent smirk of his. As if he knows that Bucky’s actually believed that. Even just for a split second. Bucky rolls his eyes. Smothers his face right where he traced that heart.

“Shut up,” he mutters. “I didn’t say it.” 

He can feel Steve chuckle as his hand passes over his head again. Bucky never thought about how nice it would feel to have someone pet his head like this. To be fair, he’s been careful not to think about the things he might like with another guy. He worried that if he did, it would make it harder to hide. 

“Didn’t learn it anywhere,” Steve answers. “I’ve just sorta… picked up on it, I guess. Told you, I like taking care of people. Plus, I mean, I _have_ done some research cause I _do_ know what I like." 

"Does that mean you're, I dunno, into kinky shit?"

"Kinky shit," Steve repeats with a soft chuckle. "I guess. I'm not _that_ experienced but I've got some." 

Turns out, Steve is super open about all this. He's more open about this, anyway, than he has been about anything else Bucky's tried to get him to share. He has no problem telling Bucky about experimenting with bondage. Light, he says. Nothing elaborate. Or that he's been spanked and likes it. That he's also spanked someone and liked it more. 

"Not to cause pain," he clarifies. "I'm not really into pain. But to make the other person feel it."

Sensations, he concludes. That's what he likes to help his partner experience. 

Since he likes to maintain control, Steve is also a fan of laying down rules and giving out orders. Only when the other person wants that though--he's very clear about this. 

He also keeps on assuring Bucky, over and over and over, that whatever happens between them, if anything else does, that they don't need to do any of those things.

"We take anything we do at your pace," Steve says. “Anything at all. If you wanna tell someone, if you don’t wanna tell ‘em about us.” He ducks his head down then, a blush kissing his cheeks. “Um. I mean… if there… _is_ an… _us_.” Steve nibbles on his lip. “Sorry. I shouldn’t just assume.”

Bucky grins. This is nice. It’s usually not this easy to see through that carefully locked door Steve hides behind. Bucky’s used to having to peer into the keyhole to see anything at all. Today, that door is opened. Maybe just a crack, but it hasn’t been slammed in Bucky’s face. Not yet, anyway. 

“Us.” Bucky likes the way the word tastes. “We can be an us. I, uh, don't really know what that means, but maybe we can figure it out along the way?"

Folding a smile in, Steve brushes his thumb at the corner of Bucky’s mouth. 

“Yeah," he whispers with a little nod. "Yeah. And we don’t have to tell anyone,” he says, “if you’re not ready.” 

No. No, Bucky’s definitely not ready to tell people just yet. A twinge of guilt pumps through him with the next beat of his heart. He doesn’t want to have to keep Steve a secret. 

“I’m sorry.” Bucky shakes his head. “I... I just--”

“No, hey.” Steve places his finger over Bucky’s lips. “Don’t apologize. This is up to you. Not me.” 

Behind Steve’s finger, Bucky smiles and thinks of something else. While he might not be ready to come out to everyone -- not even his family -- there is one person he needs to tell about this. Well, two. 

Now that he’s settled back into his body and able to think clearly again, Bucky sits up and brings Steve with him. As soon as they’re up, Bucky steals himself a kiss. He’s got a feeling he’ll be wanting to do that a lot since every time he’s done it today Steve’s face completely lights up. Oh, he tries to hide it by tucking his chin in or covering his mouth with the back of his hand, but Bucky can see it. 

“I, uh.” He chuckles. “I think I should break up with Natasha. Well.” Bucky kisses Steve’s chest. “Let people think we did. I wouldn’t feel right if we were still pretending to date while _we_ started up something together.”

“A secret affair behind your pretend girlfriend’s back.” Steve clicks his tongue. “That wouldn’t be a complicated situation at all.” 

“Exactly. I think… I think I might wanna tell her. And Clint. If that’s all right with you.”

“All right with me?” Steve takes Bucky’s hand and kisses it. “You tell as many people as you’re comfortable with. I’m the lucky one, right? Hooking up with the most popular guy in our class?”

Bucky scoffs. “I would hardly say I’m the most popular guy, Steve.”

Steve answers this with a lift of his eyebrows and a noise in the back of his throat. Sounds like he finds Bucky’s comment unbelievable. He doesn’t come out and say that, but he’s still got that expression on his face when he climbs out of the bed and pulls his sweatshirt back on. He plops back down and starts putting his shoes back on, too.

"Are… are you leaving?"

He glances over his shoulder with a crooked grin. Eyes playful. And then a sigh.

"Not because I want to. But I don't have permission to be out past four-thirty. Plus…" His lips twist. "I got something else I gotta do."

“Oh.” 

If Bucky can even hear this dismay in his voice than no doubt Steve could as well. It isn’t so much that he’s worried Steve is just running out on him. This is the most open they’ve been with each other in years. He has no idea what this means for tomorrow. The thought of Steve locking himself back up makes the glands is Bucky’s throat swell. 

But once Steve is finished tying his laces, he sits back up and sighs. Looks over at Bucky, fiddling with his lip piercing. 

“I gotta go to…” Steve’s gaze drops and he clicks the back of his teeth. “I got therapy. That’s all.” 

“Oh.” Steve looks a little embarrassed by this so Bucky scoots closer and coaxes his chin back up. “You know there’s nothing to be embarrassed by, right? Lots of people go to therapy, Steve.” 

Steve huffs a chuckle. “Court mandated therapy?” 

“Uh.” Bucky tugs on his ear. “I… I mean, yeah. There’re plenty of people who have to do that, too.” 

Steve rolls his eyes, albeit very dramatically and with a grin he’s clearly trying to hold back. He can’t be too slighted. 

“Shut up, jerk.” He’s just slung his backpack over his shoulder. Crease between his eyebrows, Steve bites down on his lip. “Um… maybe you could… I dunno, if you’d want to, but if you did, maybe you could come one day.” He clears his throat before Bucky can answer, and Bucky’s not positive he could right aways he’s just that stunned at the request. “Doc’s always sayin’ I gotta learn to trust again. To let someone in. Maybe if you come, I can get ‘er off my back.” 

A smirk teases Bucky’s lips. Not only his he simply honored that Steve would want him to go to a session with him, he can’t help but focus on one particular part of that comment. 

“Are you saying you trust me, Steve?” 

Snorting, Steve tilts his head back and shakes it like he’s both amused and embarrassed. He sighs through a crooked grin and shrugs. 

“I’ve never told anyone else,” he says, “about my mom. Or the home they sent me to. Or therapy. So.”

Surprised by that -- about some of it, anyway -- Bucky opens his mouth to respond but only manages to get out the start of some incomplete thought. He shakes his head. Tries to organize his brain which so often misfires when he’s around Steve. 

“What… what about Quill?”

“Star-Lord?”

Bucky chuckles. “Yeah. Star-Lord. Doesn’t he know? I mean, he gave me your address and all.” 

Steve turns a surprised look at him. Smiles, mischievous and playful. He takes off his glasses and chews on the end of the right tip. 

“Oh really?” he asks with this funny twinkle in his eyes. “So _he’s_ the one who told you.” 

Crap. Quill had been reluctant to tell Bucky anything. In fact, when Bucky first asked, he pretended like he didn’t even know. Bucky’s not even sure what changed his mind. Only that he danced on over right when another potential brawl may’ve happened and discreetly handed the information to him. They may not’ve actually said it, but Bucky knows there were an unspoken promise not to tell Steve who told him his address. 

“No.” Right, like that sounded at _all_ believable. “He didn’t… um. He…” Shit, how can Bucky go from lying to everyone to not even being able to lie his way out of this? “I just--”

“Relax, Buck.” Steve actually giggles. “I figured it was him. I’m not gonna tell on you.”

Groaning, Bucky drops his head in his hands. Leave it to Steve to throw him off like that. 

"Punk," he mutters through a carefully held back grin.

“Star-Lord knows that I live there, but one of the perks of being friends with him is that he’s extremely chill. He never asked for the reason so I never gave him one.”

"Oh.” Bucky feels like he should say something more but can’t think of anything other than, “And, uh, I'd be honored, Steve. To go to a session with you. Just say when."

That cute smile of his lights up his face again. Steve still tries to hide it, and maybe in front of someone else it might work, but Bucky catches it for what it is. Steve's happy and Bucky's put that smile on his face. Something to be proud about, Bucky thinks. 

"Okay." Steve sorta chuckles to himself. “Awesome. I’ll, uh, I’ll let you know. And I’ll see you tomorrow. Right?”

Bucky smiles. Picks up his shirt and pulls it back on. He stands and captures Steve’s face between his hands before leaning in a brushing a kiss to his lips. Just when Bucky would move away, Steve places his hands over Bucky’s so that he can’t go anywhere. Eyes closed, Steve breathes in deeply. 

“Is that a yes?” he asks. 

Bucky chuckles. “It’s a yes. C’mon, buddy, I’ll walk you out.” 

The door, Bucky realizes when they reach it, has been locked this whole time. Bucky has no idea when he did it, but that must’ve been Steve’s doing. When he opens it, however, Steve is sure to move away from him. 

Bucky holds in another sigh. He knows why Steve’s moved. Not because he wants to -- or Bucky hopes, anyway -- but because Bucky still doesn’t want anyone to know about this, and Steve is just truly that understanding. 

Steve is still smiling when he leaves and once Bucky closes the door behind him, he leans against it and lets out an amazed laugh. 

Today feels something like a dream. A wonderful, spectacular dream, but still a dream. He can only hope that when he wakes up, this wonderful, spectacular feeling isn’t stolen away. 


	13. There's a First for Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our boys have a little date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to post this last week but got so swamped and forgot! My apologies!

The diner is pretty empty. A few people sit at the counter but most of the booths are available. Only two, in addition to the one that Bucky sits in with Natasha, are filled. That’s not unusual for seven in the morning. Especially on a Friday. 

So much has happened these past few days and Bucky’s still struggling to keep up. To keep it all organized in his head. Not exactly the easiest of tasks.

What with the fight and then bursting into Mr. Pierce’s office to take the blame for it. Finding out that Steve has epilepsy by watching him have a seizure. Trying to find out where Steve lives and getting it from Quill only to learn that Steve lives in foster care. Being told that Sarah Rogers died. Coming out. To Steve. 

So much. Just so much crammed packed into two days. Bucky figures it’s okay to be a little freaked out by all of this. Add on Harvard and waiting for this scholarship committee’s decision and he’s surprised he’s able to stand on two feet. 

Ever since last night, after Steve left, Bucky’s been going over and over and over everything, wondering if he did things right. Said the right things. Acted the right way. Responded the right way. Steve had been smiling when he left, but what if that smile vanished the second Bucky no longer saw him. 

Steve _had_ texted him when he got home. Let him know that everything was okay but that he wouldn’t be able to talk the rest of the night. He didn’t explain why. This, of course, only made Bucky worry even more. He sent a text to Steve first thing this morning, but, so far, he still hasn’t even read it. 

Which Bucky confirms again while he and Natasha sit there waiting for their breakfasts to come. Bucky, seeing that the checkmarks still haven’t turned green, sighs. 

“Okay,” Natasha says, with a thump of her foot into Bucky’s ankle. “What’re we sighing about? Again. Cause not only did you drag me here at the butt crack of dawn but all you’ve done since we got here is sigh. So, out with it. What’s up?”

That’s a total exaggeration. It was _not_ dawn when Bucky texted her asking if they could get breakfast together. Said it was important but not a 911. Also he’s not been sitting here sighing the whole time. Bucky ordered his meal and thanked Natasha for coming.

“Okay.” Bucky tugs at the neck of his shirt. It’s not done anything to choke him, so Bucky counts himself lucky that it’s not offended. “So, I’ve been thinking…”

“Uh-oh.” Natasha grins. “That must hurt.” 

“Mm,” Bucky harrumphs with a roll of his eyes.

This makes Natasha trill an amused giggle before leaning back against the seat of the booth and crossing her arms. 

“What have you been thinking?”

“Um. Well, it’s just…” He pulls on his collar again. He’s skirting on its nerves now. “So, I mean…” Bucky swallows hard. “Wow, this is harder than I thought.” 

Eyes dropping to the table, Bucky takes to drumming his fingers across the top of it. His belly twists. He’s not sure what’s making him so nervous. It’s not like he and Natasha are actually dating. This is just pretend. Yet, for some reason, he feels like he’s about to hurt her. 

“James,” Natasha says, causing him to lift his gaze back to hers again. “Are you trying to break up with me?”

That has him dropping his eyes again, and when he does, Natasha lets loose something between a gasp and a laugh. 

“Oh, wow!” she exclaims. “You _are_ , aren’t you?”

“Well… it’s just…” Bucky has his hands in his lap now. He squeezes his fingers and taps his toes. “I mean--”

“Hey,” she interrupts, placing her hand across the table. She flicks her fingers and Bucky gives her what she wants. His hand. Natasha laces their fingers. “It’s okay. You know that, right, Bucky? I told you, whatever you need.” 

“Yeah, but…”

“Just as long as we say _I_ dumped _you_.” 

A laugh bursts through Bucky’s chest. She’s teasing him, of course, but that’s just what he needed to hear to crack the tension. 

“Whatever you want,” Bucky replies. “Anything.”

The hand around his squeezes. Natasha clicks her teeth and taps the top of his hand with a shake of her head. 

“No, dummy,” she says. “We got together amicably, we split amicably. No one needs to suspect we’re anything less than two of the three musketeers.” 

A few tears fill his eyes. Warm. Loving. They dance along his lashes before disappearing. His ex-fake-girlfriend is simply incredible. Always has been. Always will be. 

“Can I ask you something, Tasha?”

“Mhm.”

Bucky takes his hand back and, wrists against the table, fiddles with his fingers a bit as he tries to figure out how to word this. 

“Am I… _obvious_?” 

“Obvious?”

“Yeah, like… like, did you always know?” he asks. “Were you surprised? 

“Mm.” Natasha’s lips screw to the side. “No. To both those questions. I didn’t know, but I wasn’t surprised.”

“Then… then how’d you--”

“Guess?” Bucky nods. “The day you came over and asked if I’d pretend to be your girlfriend, I just sorta… figured. There was no other reason to do that unless you wanted to hide something. And it’s totally okay that you hid it from me. Which, by the way, don’t think I still haven’t noticed you haven’t _actually_ come out to me yet.”

Folding in a smile, Bucky holds out his hand for hers this time. When she gives it to him, he places his other over it. 

“Tasha, I have to tell you something.”

“Oh? What is it?”

Bucky takes in a deep breath. On the exhale, he says, “I’m gay.” 

It feels great to say it again. Out loud. To someone he really knows isn’t going to judge him or be all awkward around him. Not that he didn’t already know it, given the fact that they just fake-ended their fake relationship because Natasha had only been pretending to be his girlfriend. 

That good feeling doesn’t leave even when Natasha gasps, feigning shock and surprise. She even clutches at her neck as though grabbing onto a pearl necklace. She definitely knows how to be dramatic when she wants to be. 

“My _lord_ , James Buchanan Barnes, you don’t say.” She waves her hand through the air. “I’d’ve never guessed, but with kids today, no one can ever tell which side their bread is buttered, can they?”

“Oh my god,” Bucky mutters, holding back a laugh. “I hate you.” 

“Absolutely not,” she replies. “You, in fact, love me very much. It’s a rule. You know that.” 

It is a rule. One implemented when they entered high school and they got into a fight over some stupid shit that Bucky can’t even remember now, but ended with apologies from both of them and an ‘I love you’ from Bucky. Natasha had accepted that and told him he needed to love her. That it was now a rule. And, ever since, it has been. No matter how badly they’ve fought -- whether it’s his fault or her fault or both their fault or nobody’s fault -- the rule is that they love each other. Always. 

“Yeah, yeah. Fine. I love you. And you love me.”

“Damn right I do.” She takes a sip of her coffee. Black. “To answer you other question, I dunno what you mean by obvious, but if you’re worried about Rumlow and those goons _actually_ knowing, I don’t think you need to be. They’re just a bunch of assholes.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know that. I dunno, sometimes I wish I could just _do_ it. Just come out to _everyone_ and not give a shit about them. I dunno why I even do. I wanna be out and proud but… but…”

“High school,” she says for him. “High school sucks for everyone, except for those few special people who peak there, and it also sucks even _worse_ for other people. But it’s April. Only three more months and you can kiss that place goodbye for good and head to Harvard.” 

Bucky ignores that painful knot in his stomach. “Right. Right, that’s the plan.” 

“Can I ask _you_ something?”

Gaze flicking back to her, Bucky hopes he doesn’t look as sick as he feels. So far, as far as he knows, he’s done a good job at hiding his fears about Harvard. Just stick to the plan. That’s all he needs to do. 

“Uh. Yeah. Sure.” 

“What’s the name?”

Eyebrows pulling in, Bucky tilts his head as he tries to figure out what she means by that. 

“Name? What name?”

“The name of the boy you’re breaking up with me for.” 

Cheeks splashed with pink, Bucky can’t help the silly giggle that tries to bounce around inside his mouth. He shakes his head, looking down at his lap. When he glances back at Natasha through his eyelashes, and sees that she’s making that all-knowing face at him, he spits out another giggle. Ugh, he can’t get a grip, this is just ridiculous. 

“It’s okay,” Natasha sing-songs. “You can say it. I already know.” 

Eyes still on his lap and this crazy-big grin on his face, Bucky sighs, or tries to anyway, and scratches the back of his head. 

“Steve,” he whispers. “It’s Steve.” 

“Mhm.” She nudges his ankle again, this time in her own-teasing way. “You do realize you’ve had a thing for that kid since you were eleven, right?”

“Wh _a_ t?!” he exclaims, his voice reaching a volume he didn’t even think possible anymore. “No, I… what… that’s ridiculous.” 

“Right.” Natasha rolls her eyes as the waitress comes back over with their meals. “Totally ridic.” 

For a few seconds, Bucky buys some time by digging into his food. More than just an omelette this time, he’s ordered a plate of French toast with strawberry topping and two sausage links and hash browns. Chocolate milk to wash it down. 

It works for a moment or two. Natasha makes herself busy with her own dish of eggs over easy and whole wheat toast. She makes a face when she takes a sip of her orange juice. Forgetting she’s recently brushed her teeth, probably. 

“You know it’s true,” she says a minute later, just as Bucky dribbles syrup down the front of his shirt. “Don’t try to deny it.”

Bucky, fussing with the napkin that just makes an even bigger mess of his shirt, sighs and glares at her through his lashes. 

“I dunno what you’re talking about,” he says. “We were just kids.” 

“Are you trying to tell me kids aren’t capable of feelings?” she asks. “You want me to believe that Sophia doesn’t have her own personality?”

Laughing at the thought of Sophia ruling the world with a towel around her shoulders and a plastic crown on her head, Bucky thinks back on his time spent with Steve when they were kids. He can admit that he had the best times with Steve. That he looked forward to seeing him the most. That he was actually disappointed when he wasn’t around. 

But he’s not sure that really means anything. Bucky had fun with Clint and Natasha, too. He loved spending weekends with them and was bummed if they missed a day of school. 

“Well, yeah.” Bucky shoveled food into his mouth. “Kids have feelings. But _those_ kinds of feelings?”

“I had my first crush at eleven.” 

“Wait, you did?” He’d been in the middle of taking a sip of his drink and nearly dropped it when she said that. “You never told me that.” Natasha grins and shrugs. “Are you gonna tell me who?”

“Who what?”

Bucky scoffs. “Who you had a crush on, duh.”

She doesn’t answer that beyond a flick of her eyebrows. When Bucky doesn’t put it together, still not figuring out who she had a crush on, Natasha laughs and rolls her eyes. 

“You, you dope.” 

Finger pointed at his chest, Bucky’s eyes go wide. If there had ever been any indication that she had a crush on him, it flew so far over Bucky’s head he didn’t even have a chance to get a glimpse of it. Unsurprising, really. All the clues about Steve’s mom had pretty much been laid out right in front of him and he never put that together either. He’ll blame ignorance on the first; denial for the second. 

“ _Me_?”

“Yes, you.” She chuckles. “Why is that so surprising?”

“I… I mean, I dunno.” Bucky pushes some food around on his plate. “You never said anything.” 

“Really wasn’t much to say. It was just a little crush. What were we gonna do? Be boyfriend and girlfriend and act out a whole tragic romance when really all we’d ever do is hold hands?”

A blush teases Bucky’s cheeks. He folds a smile in and shrugs. “No. But it would’ve been nice to know.”

“That I had a crush on you?”

“Sure. Would’ve made me feel good.”

“Yeah, well, don’t get ahead of yourself, you’re not the only one I ever had a crush on.”

“Pft. You sure know how to make a guy feel special.” 

He makes her laugh with that one as she drinks her orange juice, this time not grimacing at it. Natasha picks up her glass of coffee and looks over the top of it at Bucky.

“What about you?” she asks. 

“What about me?”

“Do you have a tale of first crushes?” Natasha smirks. “Anyone specifically that made you question your sexuality?”

This time, a blush doesn’t tease Bucky, it fills his entire face so hard and fast that he ducks his chin to his chest, unable to hold back a bashful chuckle. Apparently, nonchalant is not one of his strong suits. 

“Oh!” Natasha laughs. “This has got to be a good one. Out with it, James.”

Bucky shakes his head. “I… I don’t wanna.” 

If he really didn’t want to say, Natasha would never make him, but the only problem right now is embarrassment. Bucky never expected this question to be presented to him and now that it has, he can’t stop the nervous giggles. Hands over his face, he smothers more laughter in his palms when Natasha asks him again. 

A whine catches in Bucky’s throat as she goes on to tease and try to needle this out of him. When he peeks at her from over the tips of his fingers, she’s simply sitting there patiently waiting for the answer. Pout on his face, Bucky drops his hands, hitting one of them on the edge of the table and sighs. 

“You promise not to laugh?” Natasha crosses an X over her heart. Eyes focused on the table, Bucky murmurs, “It was Hiro.” 

“Who?”

“H-Hiro.”

Confusion passes through her eyes as she tries to place the name. Probably trying to put it onto one of their classmates. Which is where she makes her mistake. This isn’t someone they go or even went to school with. He’s not a celebrity either. Not conventionally, anyway. 

“Who’s Hiro? she asks when she comes up blank. 

“Hiro…” Bucky hesitates. “Hiro Hamada.” 

“Hiro Hamada? I don’t know who that--” She stops, abruptly ending her statement with an epiphany. Bucky can literally see on her face the second in clicks. “You… Do you mean the boy from Big Hero 6?”

Throwing an accusing finger at her, Bucky exclaims, “You swore you wouldn’t laugh!”

“I’m not laughing!” She’s not but she’s definitely reeling in an amused grin. Natasha seems to think on this for a moment, turning the idea over in her mind. “I think that’s a good choice for you.”

“A fictional character?”

This time, she does laugh, but it’s all right now; Bucky’s made a joke after all and it’s nice to know that through the years she’s always found his sense of humor amusing.

“Maybe,” she says. “But I was thinking more along the lines of little and adorable and super smart and maybe a little bit impulsive. Mad at the world. Heart of gold. Doesn’t sound like your type, no, not at all.” 

“Yeah, okay.” Bucky gives her a crooked smile. “I see your point.”

“And what about in real life?” Natasha finishes up the last bit of toast from her meal. “Anyone I know?”

Bucky nods. “Sam.” 

“Wilson?”

“Mhm.” Bucky reaches across the table for her cup of coffee. Takes a sip. “Remember in, like, summer before tenth and we all got together to play stickball?” 

Sam hadn’t been in school with them at the time. He was still in private school then but the wonders of modern technology had made it easy for them to keep in touch. Summer trips to the pool and beach and Coney Island. And, of course, that legendary game of stickball that Bucky needed to sit out for a bit while playing. 

“I’m gonna need you to be a little more specific.”

Bucky chuckles. Makes sense that she doesn’t remember it right off the top of her head. It was a little more significant for him than it was for her. 

“Doesn’t matter, it’s not important to the story.” Bucky shakes his head, organizing his thoughts. “It was super hot and Sam took off his shirt and he was _jacked_. I mean, he’d gone from Sam Wilson to _Damn_ Wilson.”

Natasha snorts with both laughter and an eyeroll. “You’re an ass.” 

Smiling at his own joke, Bucky finishes off his drink and gestures to the waitress for their check. 

“Anyway, he poured water all over his head and it was just dripping down all these tight muscles and, yeah. I was a little distracted.” 

They’ve gotten their money together and slide out of the booth, heading up to the front to pay before making their way to school. Once they’re outside together -- the weather chilly but still warmer than the freezing winter months -- Natasha loops their arms. 

“Well, not that my opinion matters,” she says, “but I think you made good picks. For both your crushes. Or, should I say, three.” 

Three must include Steve. And she’s a little wrong. While he knows who he dates is ultimately up to him, her opinion most certainly does matter. Bucky rests his head down on her shoulder.

“Mm-mm. No. Your opinion matters.” With their arms twined like that, Natasha gives him an affectionate squeeze. “I dunno what I’d do if someone I was dating and my best friends didn’t get along.” 

“I guess we are three of a kind, aren’t we, Binky?” 

“That we are, ma’am.”

When they turn the corner to walk down the block toward school, they’re immediately sucked in by classmates. People saying hello and good morning. Asking about assignments that’re due. If there’s a test in this class. Before they get lost within the crowd, both Bucky and Natasha take out their phones and quickly change any relationship status on social media. 

And just like that, everyone knows that Bucky Barnes and Natasha Romanoff have broken up.

***

So far, there hasn’t been too much drama surrounding the devastating death of BuckyNat. There’ve been rumors, of course. Who broke up with who and why they broke up. One particularly nasty one was the idea that Bucky broke up with Natasha because she wouldn’t sleep with him. He’s glad to say, for the most part, that people’ve been dismissing that. Bucky even overheard Billy Kaplan in the bathroom telling someone that he didn’t believe that for a second. 

Other than that, they’ve both been getting the same routine. Some sympathy over the break up. Well wishers telling them what a great couple they made. The glass-is-half-full people suggesting that maybe they’ll get back together in the future. 

To be honest, the one taking it the roughest has been Clint. 

Bucky and Natasha had barely even walked in through the front doors when he came charging over to them asking a million questions so quickly neither of them could understand him. After a few seconds they got the gist of it. 

“We’re fine, Clint,” Natasha assured him. “It’s a mutual thing.”

Clint shook his head, not accepting that. “No no no. Everyone always says that and it’s not because someone wanted it more than the other and someone is hurt and--”

“Clint!” Bucky laughed. “We’re good. We promise.” 

That suspicious look stayed on Clint’s face as he gave them both the once over, eyes narrowed and lips pursed in an overdramatic purse. 

“But then… _why_?”

Natasha snorted with a roll of her eyes and headed toward her locker. “Geez, Clint, you make it sound like we broke up with _you_.”

Hand flying over his heart, Clint gasped as though such a thing was completely ludacris and should never even be mentioned. 

“How _dare_.”

Bucky chuckled. “We’ll explain everything later.” 

He got something of a surprised look from Natasha. She leaned back to say something under her breath to him.

“Like… _everything_ everything?”

A smile turned up Bucky’s mouth. He’d thought this over a lot last night. He wanted his two best friends in the world to know him as best they could. Bucky was ready for them both to know. He nodded.

“Yeah.”

Eyes sparkling in what Bucky could only describe as pride, Natasha brushed a soft kiss along his cheek. She didn’t need to say anything. 

“Okay, for real,” Clint said. “If there’s stuff to _explain_ then that means there’s _stuff_ that happened!”

“After school,” Bucky told him as they climbed up the stairs to their lockers. “I’ll tell you after school.”

Even though Clint had agreed to this, he’s been having some trouble remembering that part as Bucky’s received texts throughout the day wanting hints or clues or even the whole damn story. It’s also the very first thing brought up when they sit down for lunch. 

“Why can’t you just tell me _now_?” Clint asks before the rest of their friends join them. “I won’t say nothin’, I swear. C’mon, I promise. I’ll be your best friend.” 

“Oh for god’s sake.” Natasha, Bucky thinks, kicks his ankle. “Would you give it a rest?”

Apparently, she’s been getting texts as well. 

“What about _after_ school don’t you get?” Bucky says. “It’s kinda private.”

“What’s so private that you can’t--” But Clint stops there, slowly straightening up and looking between the two of them as though something impossible has happened. “You… you’re not…”

Natasha snorts. “No, dumbass, I’m not pregnant.”

When Bucky realizes that’s what Clint was getting at, his jaw drops and he reaches across the table to flip the cap off his head. 

“You dick!” Bucky exclaims. “You think my response to that would be to _break up_ with her?” 

“Well I dunno! Women’s right to choose and all? I don’t know, I’m sorry!” He sighs and rubs the top of his head. “My brain hurts.”

Both Bucky and Natasha laugh as Clint reaches down to snag his hat from off the floor even though, technically, he shouldn’t have it on in school. Including in the cafeteria. He puts it back on anyway, just as more of their friends show up. Sam with Jane and Thor. 

“Hey, guys,” Sam greets. “Sorry to hear about you guys splittin’ up. You good?”

They thank him, just as they’ve been doing all day, and Jane even wonders if maybe they want to switch their seating arrangements around just in case things are uncomfortable. Natasha nixes that idea right away. Says there’s no way she’s giving up her human pillow. This is accompanied by her laying her head down on Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky smiles. Hopes that everyone can tell that everything really is just fine. 

Just to prove it even further, Bucky rests his head against hers. He’s actually pretty tired. Makes sense, he supposes. Yesterday was a pretty eventful day and he did get up earlier this morning to meet Natasha for breakfast at the diner. 

He’s just thinking that he might actually be able to doze off like this when he notices Steve -- who he hadn’t even seen come into the cafeteria -- by the garbage tossing out what’s left of his lunch. Which, from what Bucky can see, isn’t much. Even though it’s school food, he’s eaten almost all of it. Bucky wonders if that has something to do with the food at his group home. Every time they’ve shared a meal, Steve has just devoured it. Either he’s always hungry or the food available to him isn’t all that good. Maybe both. 

Maybe, now that Bucky knows about it, Steve’ll talk more about it. Vent, if he needs to. In fact, now that Bucky thinks of it, Steve didn’t share all that much about it in the first place. Bucky knows he doesn’t like it there, but not much outside of that. They kinda got interrupted when Bucky made his startling confession. 

Actually, he feels kind of bad about that. Things started about Steve and his stress and they ended up focused on Bucky. He’d like to learn more about it. More about the time he spent between his mother dying and he was sent away. About him in general. 

Steve’s made his way over to the vending machine, digging through his pockets for, Bucky guesses, more change. Before he has a chance to finish over there, Bucky excuses himself. 

“Hang on,” he murmurs, mostly for Natasha to hear. “I’ll be right back.”

He tries not to hurry. Doesn’t want to look like he’s walking with a purpose. Nonchalant. Which he’s already concluded isn’t an art he’s mastered. He probably looks ridiculous, but he makes it to the vending machine without being noticed. Well, stopped anyway. 

Steve’s back has been to him this whole time, but he still grins when Bucky approaches. Is still grinning as he steps next to him.

“Hello, Bucky.” 

Oh, this is just ridiculous. Bucky shouldn’t feel pops and cracks of excitement going off in his belly just by being next to the damn guy. And yet, here he is. Smiling ear to ear just cause he said hello to him.

“Hey, Steve.”

“I heard you broke up with Nat.” He nods in his direction. “Sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah. This morning.” Bucky sorta looks at him but doesn’t completely. “I said I was gonna.”

“Yeah, but.” Steve shrugs a shoulder. “Sayin’ a thing and doin’ it are different. You might’ve changed your mind.”

Their voices are hushed as they speak, Steve slowly slipping coin after coin into the slot on the vending machine. Bucky’s not even sure what to say. 

“Um.” He clears his throat. “We’re… _we’re_ good, right?”

Flicking his gaze to him like he’s surprised by the question, Steve grins wider and looks back at the machine as though he’s mulling over what he’d like to get. Well, at least one of them can pull off nonchalance. When it counts anyway. 

“Yeah, Bucky. We’re good. No reason not to be.” 

He sorta nudges Bucky with his shoulder and a mountain of worry that Bucky didn’t even realize he was trapped under crumbles down all around him. Bucky releases a heavy breath. The one that he may’ve been holding tight in his lungs since the moment he woke this morning. 

“Kay. Okay. That’s… okay.” Bucky nods when Steve chuckles. “Um, I was wondering if you had plans tonight.” 

“Nothin’ concrete,” he says as he selects a single pack of Twizzlers. “Why?”

“Do you…” Bucky scratches the back of his head. “Do you maybe wanna get some dinner with me?”

Eyebrows raising, Steve quickly takes a look over both shoulders as though he’s double-checking that no one is around to hear them. 

He lowers his voice even more and says, “Are you asking me out on a date, Bucky Barnes?”

“Uh.” Bucky thinks on that for a moment and realizes that this _could_ be just two buddies grabbing some dinner. But a date with Steve sounds nice. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am.” 

If Bucky’s not mistaken, Steve blushes. It’s just a little, hardly noticeable, but his cheeks get a little rosier than usual. He’s opened his bag of candy and takes one out. Before answering, he bites the top of it and rips a piece off. 

“I got until eleven tonight,” he says with his mouth still full of Twizzler. “Wanna text me where and when?”

Face lighting up, Bucky has to hold in a giggle. A freaking giggle. God, what the hell is actually happening to him. 

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

“Okay then.” 

Steve sticks the top of another Twizzler between his teeth and smiles with it still there. He passes one along to Bucky who takes it without really paying attention to what he’s doing because he’s too busy smiling at Steve. Who walks away with that Twizzler still hanging out of his mouth. 

Turning the piece that Steve gave him over in his hands, Bucky’s smiling as he gets back to his table, plopping down in his seat. His friends are all talking, but he’s not paying any attention to them. All he can think about is that he’s got a date tonight. With Steve. 

He lifts his eyes to where Steve is seated across the room with Quill. They’re both talking animatedly with each other. At the same time. Bucky would think they were fighting if not for the smiles and laughter. His eyes are still on them when Steve happens to glance up in his direction. Their eyes meet. Bucky blushes. Steve smiles. 

“Yo! Bucky! You with us?”

The sound of his name pulls Bucky back to the lunch table with them, realizing he’d been asked a question that he completely missed.

“Uh, yeah, sorry. What was that?”

Sam chuckles. Must’ve been him who’d asked him something. 

“Said my folks are gone for the weekend,” he says. Repeats, actually. “Got the whole place to myself. Gonna have people over. You in?”

“Oh. Um.” Bucky’s eyes find Steve again. This time, it looks like he might be drawing. No way is he gonna look up now. “I, uh, I dunno. I sorta have dinner plans. But… maybe after? If that’s okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re good, man. You can crash at my place if you gotta. Just hit me up to lemme know if you’re coming.” 

Bucky assures him that he’ll do just that as he goes on to wonder what it’d be like if he and Steve went together. What would people think; if they thought anything about it at all. Other than Bucky and Steve showing up together. No one’s actually seen them _together_ together in years. 

Sure, they’ve been spending lots of time together, but most of that time has been in private. There was the whole incident that happened on Wednesday. The fight started at Steve’s locker. And the bullshit that Zemo had said. But Bucky’s heard nothing else about that. Steve’s seizure and now Bucky and Natasha’s break up have taken the lead spots in the gossip corner. 

If they were to go to Sam’s together, people’ll probably think it’s just strange. As far as they know, Bucky and Steve don’t mix. If Steve Rogers is gonna be at some social gathering it’s usually with Peter Quill. From there, he’ll interact with the few other people he’s friendly with. 

Maybe if Bucky shows up with Steve tonight, they can sneak into a room together to be alone for a little while. The thought alone has him flushing and smiling and he quickly takes a bite of his Twizzler so that nobody notices. 

***

If someone could actually burst from anticipation, Bucky’s fairly sure that Clint would be in a million pieces right about now. He’s trying his hardest to be on his best behavior. Keeps folding his lips in to keep from talking and answers normal questions about today and the upcoming weekend. But he’s literally jumping out of his skin. Well, not literally, that’d be totally gross, but he absolutely cannot sit still. Or stand, since they’re currently walking to Starbucks. 

Not the one nearest to school. Not even the second closest. They’re headed for the one further away from even that in an attempt to keep away from prying ears. As they walk, though, Clint bounces up and down and shakes his knees and even rubs his knuckles together. Natasha has rolled her eyes several times and has requested more than that that he stop acting like a child. 

“I am a child,” he says as they finally reach the Starbucks.

“You are not.” She pulls the door open. “You’ve been eighteen for almost a year already.”

“Only ten months!”

“Uh, ten and a _half_ , thank you,” Natasha corrects. “I’m the only baby musketeer left.”

“Hey.” Bucky strolls up to the counter without looking at him. “I’ve been eighteen for, like, a _month_. Don’t lump me in with this old man.”

Up at the counter, they continue teasing each other about their ages while giving the barista their order. Both Clint and Natasha point out that they haven’t forgotten that Bucky let his birthday pass this year without letting them take him out. Apparently, because of all the senior year stress, they’ve allowed it but their leniency will only last until summer. According to them, the first full week they’re off, they’re gonna be taking him for a night on the town. 

Which probably means just going to the beach, maybe Luna Park. Dinner afterward. Possibly even a movie. 

Whatever they end up doing, Bucky knows it’ll be fun. He wonders if maybe Steve’ll be joining them this year. The thought excites him. 

Once their orders are ready -- three drinks and pastries among them -- they find a seat all the way in the back where they’re less likely to be overheard. Clint even has enough patience to let everyone get their drinks the way they like it and open their food. Bucky even has enough time to take a bite of his muffin before he’s pestering them again.

“Okay, c’mon,” he says. “I’ve been good. Out with it. Tell me what’s up. No preggers, we’ve already established that. So… what? Spill the tea.”

Now that he’s faced with saying it out loud again, Bucky’s body tenses. Eyes dropping to his cup, he swallows roughly and takes a drink. The hand upon his shoulder makes him look back up to Natasha who smiles softly at him. 

“You’re good,” she murmurs. Encouragement and support shine through her eyes. “You don’t have to worry.”

“Whoa, hang on,” Clint says, holding his palms out. “Now ya’ll are scaring me. You’re… you’re _okay_ , right?”

“Oh, yeah.” Bucky nods to quickly quell Clint’s worry. He’s also touched that he would worry about him like that. “Nothing wrong with me. Not that way. Oh, well.” He bobs his head a bit. “I guess _some_ people say differently.” 

This makes Natasha chuckle into her cappuccino with a slight shake of her head. The worry clears from Clint’s face. Bafflement fills it now. Creases his eyebrows and turns his lips down.

“Okay, now I’m just confused again.” 

“Right. Sorry.” Bucky closes his eyes and whispers that he can do this to himself. He’s done it twice already. Well, one and a half times. But this is Clint and he can’t think of anything that Clint would care less about than Bucky being gay. Taking in a deep breath, he looks at him again. “The reason Natasha and I broke up is because… because… well, I’m sorta seeing someone else and--”

“Wait, what?” Eyebrows shooting up, Clint’s mouth hands open like he just can’t understand what Bucky’s just said. “Already? You guys just… I mean…”

“Clint.” Natasha’s voice eases into his babbling confusion. “Let him finish.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, okay, sorry. Go on, Buck.”

“Okay. Well, see, there’s sort of… a little bit of a difference between Natasha and this person.” 

“Little?” Natasha snickers. “I hope it’s big for your sake.” 

The thought of Steve’s penis and its size when he’s desperately trying to come out to Clint nearly makes Bucky choke on air. Thank goodness he hadn’t taken a sip of coffee cause he’d’ve spit it out all over the place.

“Oh my _god_ ,” he says into his palms. “You’re the worst.”

“Okay, seriously,” Clint says. “What’s going on?”

Bucky nods and takes in a deep breath. “I’ve got a… a date tonight. With Steve.” 

“You didn’t tell me that part.” Natasha nudges him with her elbow. “Hm?”

Grinning, Bucky tugs on his ear. “Yeah, that happened during lunch. We--”

“Wait a second!” Clint shakes his head. "If you're going on a date with Steve then… then…" His face blanks for a moment before everything becomes clear. Bucky wouldn't be surprised if an actual lightbulb clicked on above his head. "I knew it! I just knew it!” He points a finger at Bucky and much to Bucky’s surprise says nothing about him being gay but, “I always _knew_ you had a thing for him! Yes! It’s your epic love story! Your happily ever after! You… Wait, slow down, Clint,” he says to himself. “So, does this mean you’re… were you two…” He stops and sighs. “I’m not gonna assume the label, I’ll go ahead and let you do that.” 

Appreciative of that, Bucky smiles. “I’m gay, Clint.”

“Wow. Okay, so… so you’re gay. So, wow. I mean, that’s cool. I mean, I’m asexual and you’re-- oh, don’t worry, I told Tasha, but this isn’t about me, it’s about you. Holy shit, I can’t stop talking, you handled this so much better, I’m sorry, I dunno what’s wrong with me.”

Bucky looks down at his lap. Smiling. This is classic Barton and he’s okay with it. The fact that he’s still just acting like himself even after what Bucky’s just told him makes everything good. He peers up at him through his lashes. 

“Did you… did you really know?”

“No, I…” He pauses. Crinkles his mouth in thought. “Well, I guess I had my suspicions. Not because of anything you did just… I dunno, I guess sometimes I thought you weren’t telling us something. B-but that’s not what I meant when I said that I knew it. God, I’m doing this all wrong.”

“No, you’re not.” Bucky chuckles. “You’re being Clint. That’s all I can ask for.” 

The smile that he gives Bucky actually warms his heart. Clint looks at him as though he’s just given him the greatest gift. He swears, even tears touch Clint’s eyes, even if just for a moment. 

“I’m gonna…” Clint sorta holds his arms out but not all the way. “I’m gonna hug you now. Okay?”

“Yeah. More than okay.” 

Bucky finds himself in Clint’s arms before he’s even out of the chair. His arms wrap around him completely, so tight and affectionate. Chin resting on Clint’s shoulder, Bucky grins so hard that his eyes squeezed shut. He almost cries. The tears are in there somewhere. Feels like they’re trapped in his throat. They don’t come out this time, not without lack of trying, but when they move apart they both wipe at their eyes. His hands clap down on Bucky’s shoulders, keeping him very still. 

“Listen, there’s something I really need you to know,” he says. “You could’ve told me at any time. It’s totes okay that you didn’t, but I want you to know that you could have. And thank you for telling me now.”

“You’re not mad?” Bucky asks. “That I didn’t tell you sooner?”

“Fuck no.” Clint pulls him in for a hug again. “I’m honored that you told me at all. I know it’s not easy.” 

“Only you guys know. And Steve.”

“Who you have a date with.”

“Right.”

“Tonight.”

“Yes.”

Clint pumps his fist in the air and tells them to hurry on up and finish so that they could get Bucky ready for his hot date tonight. Until Clint says anything, Bucky hadn’t given much thought to the getting ready part. But if even if he was just going to Sam’s tonight, he’d shower and change. Do his hair. 

He considers getting off in the shower. Steve gets him all riled up without even touching him, the last thing he needs is a raging hard-on while they’re out together. He decides against it though. Be too weird with Natasha and Clint waiting for him in the bedroom. 

Before he gets into the shower, he texts Steve. Asks him how he feels about Mexican food. His phone goes off again while he’s showering and Bukcy’s so excited to hear the little chimes that he doesn’t even consider that it might be someone other than Steve. He pulls the curtain out of his way just enough to grab his phone off the sink. Sure enough, it’s Steve telling him that Mexican is terrific and asking when and where. Bucky tells him he knows this great place on 5th and they settle on six o’clock as the time they’ll meet there. 

When Bucky gets back to his room with his robe on, he’s surprised to see a ton of clothes strewn across his bed. 

“What the hell, guys?” He laughs. “What is all this?”

“We are dolling you up,” Clint says. “Gettin’ you ready for your hot date.” 

“Oh my god.”

Natasha pulls out the chair from his desk and tells him to sit. That she’s going to do his hair for him. Once she’s done, he tires on all the different outfits they’ve picked and the dark blue button down and his black jeans is what they settle on. Bucky tops it off with his tan leather jacket. 

“And where are you going dressed so nice?”

Of course, his mother catches him at the door. He’d already told her earlier that he’d be going out for the evening but he’d hoped that just a shouted goodbye would be good enough. Apparently, he was wrong. 

They haven’t spoken much lately. Not since the other afternoon when he came home from Steve’s and told her everything that happened to Sarah. She’d comforted him that night. Listened to every word he had to say. Hugged him. She even told him to invite Steve over for dinner as their guest. 

“I’ll cook a nice meal for him,” she said. “We won’t bring up Sarah, that’ll be up to him, but… you tell him that he’s welcome here anytime.”

Bucky hated that it’d taken her finding out that Sarah died for her to make such an offer, but he figured it was better than nothing. 

“Um, Sam’s,” he answers her. “Sam’s having some people over tonight so we’re gonna swing by.”

“Before dinner?” she asks. 

“Oh, uh…”

“We’re all gonna grab a bite to eat,” Natasha says for him. “On our way there.” 

“Oh.” She nods and comes over to kiss his cheek. “Before you go, have you heard anything from the scholarship committee?” 

Bucky sighs. “No, Mom. When I do, you’ll be the first to know.” 

“Don’t be a smart ass.” She smiles anyway and waves him off. “Text us if you’re gonna be out all night.” 

“Will do!”

He gets the hell out of there before she has the chance to ask him any more questions. Bucky walks to the corner with Clint and Natasha. This is where they’ll part ways and now that he’s going on his own, the nerves spring through his body. 

“Oh, shit,” he mumbles. “I’m, like, nervous. Like _really_ nervous.” 

“Yeah, no shit,” Natasha laughs, brushing something away from his shoulder. “Loosen up, you’re going on a date not to the electric chair.”

“For real.” Clint claps him on the shoulder. “Like I said, childhood sweethearts.” 

Both he and Natasha roll their eyes, but the thought of it simmers in Bucky’s heart. 

“You think you’ll stop by Sam’s later?” Natasha asks. 

“I dunno. I guess I’ll see what’s up later.”

“All right well.” Natasha leans in to kiss his cheek. “You have a good time. We’ll be at Sam’s so text us if you need us.”

Bucky gets a big hug from Clint and a pat on the back in the middle of it. Clint wishes him luck and Bucky finds himself alone with his thoughts as he walks to the restaurant he’s meeting Steve at. It’s not a far walk; only about fifteen minutes. The entire way, Bucky tries to remember that this isn’t some blind date. It’s not some person he met while out one night. This is Steve. They’ve already established that they have feelings for each other and never run out of things to say. 

This is going to be good. There’s no reason for it not to be. 

When he rounds the corner of the block of the restaurant, Bucky stops short. Right in front of the place, which isn’t even halfway down the street, is Steve, and the sight of him makes Bucky stagger. There’s nothing fancy about him or anything. In fact, Bucky could be considered dressed up next to him. 

But that bright red and black flannel he has on makes him stand out as he waits. He’s got on a pair of skinny jeans, light in color with rips in the front. His sleeves are rolled up so Bucky can see the tattoos on his arm. Though it is getting warmer, Bucky wouldn’t consider it warm enough to be standing out in just a flannel but at least he’s got a black hoodie wrapped around his waist. Prepared, then. From under the beanie over his head, those locks of golden hair sweep across his forehead, but what catches Bucky’s attention the most is the rose he’s holding. Just one. He twirls it between his fingers, stopping every now and then to smell the blossom. 

After a moment of watching him, Steve’s gaze swings his way and when he sees him, he straightens up and wiggles his fingers in a wave. From what Bucky can tell, there’s a cute smile on his face. 

“Hey,” Bucky greets when he’s within reach. “You made it.”

“Well, yeah.” Steve shrugs. “When Bucky Barnes asks you out you don’t stand him up.” 

Steve makes him sound like some celebrity or something when he’s really a nobody. He’s just a regular high school student trying to find his way in this fucked up world. The fact that Steve thinks so highly of him, even after all these years between them, it makes Bucky feel like a million dollars. 

“What do you got there?”

Steve looks at the rose like he’d completely forgotten he had anything in his hands at all. Now that attention has been called to it, he grins and flicks his eyebrows up. 

“Before Mama died, she gave me all sorts of advice. Sorta like a lifetime of knowledge condensed in a thirty minute lesson.” Steve’s eyes drop to his feet. “As a ten-year-old none of it made much sense but as I got older, some of it started to click. One of the things she said was to never show up to a first date empty-handed. So.” He holds the rose out to him. “For you.” 

So touched by everything Steve’s just told him, Bucky finds himself flabbergasted. Not just by Steve’s thoughtful gesture but the fact that he’s gone from being completely tight-lipped about Sarah to just sharing that with him. Steve trusting him enough to share that part of his heart is worth all the flowers in the world. 

“Th-thank you, Steve,” Bucky murmurs, and can only hope his gratitude for it all comes out with those two words. 

“Um.” Steve points with his thumb over his shoulder. “Should we…” 

“Oh, yeah! Yeah, after you.” 

They don’t need to wait very long for a table. Ten minutes at most. Bucky makes sure his rose is safely placed on the table just as a waiter comes to take their drink orders. They chat a little as they place their orders -- jalapeño poppers to share while Steve gets himself the chicken enchilada and Bucky goes for a mushroom burrito. Up till putting their orders in, they mostly talk about school. Classes they’re both taking and teachers they share. Teachers they like or dislike. Bucky’s surprised when he tells him that he came to last year’s Romeo and Juliet production. 

He was torn, he says, between not supporting it because they wouldn’t allow Loki to audition for Juliet and supporting Angie _as_ Juliet. He also gets a blush from Bucky when he compliments his performance as Tybalt. 

It’s when they’re munching on their jalapeño appetizers that Steve decides to spice things up a bit. 

“Okay, I got a fun little thing we can do,” Steve says. “Be better with some beer, but we’ll make do with what we got.”

Bucky chuckles and puts down the popper he was about to eat.

“Are we gonna play a drinking game without alcohol?”

“Pretty much. And you have to say yes or no before hearing the game. But trust me, you know it.” 

Head tilted back, Bucky lets out an amused groan. Leave it to Steve to get the tension brewing by such a simple suggestion. 

“Oh my god.” He smothers his face with his palms. “Only _you_ could put so much pressure on a yes or no question.”

Steve gives him a cheeky little grin. “I try my best. So, what’s it gonna be, Bucky? Are you in or are you out?”

“Have you ever heard of peer pressure, Rogers?”

He shrugs and chuckles. “If you’re too scared…” 

“All right, all right, you win. But just be expecting a full lesson on peer pressure on Monday.”

Meaning that one hundred percent, Bucky makes sure there’s all seriousness in his voice. Not because he’s really worried about whatever Steve has planned or because he’s actually giving into peer pressure. This is just Steve goofing off. If Bucky really wanted him to tell him, he would, and Bucky knows that. Steve knows this, too, which is why Bucky can tease him. 

Steve makes a disgruntled face and mimics him before giving him one of those lazy two fingered salutes he’s so fond of.

“Yes, Officer Barnes,” he grumbles with that sour puss on his face. Until he perks up again and says, “Okay, so, you ready for truth or drink with a twist?”

“With a twist?” Bucky drops his head in his hand. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Well, we gotta make up for not having any alcohol so the _catch_ is that you can drink if you don’t want to answer, but the person who drinks _more_ has to wait an hour before using the bathroom from when they first gotta go.”

Bucky knows he’s gonna regret this, but he finds himself agreeing anyway. He can already feel the strain on his tiny bladder. 

“Go on then,” he says. “Ask your first question.”

Steve claps his hands together in excitement and shimmies a bit in his seat. Before asking anything, Steve takes a bite out of another popper.

Mouth still full, he asks, “What’s the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to you?”

“Damn it, right off the bat?”

Bucky doesn’t even have to think about this one. He knows exactly what the most embarrassing thing he’s been through without even having to even think about it. Cheeks all red, Bucky seriously considers just drinking right away but totally doesn’t want to on the first question. All the while, Steve just sits there. Proud and very pleased with himself. 

“Spill it or drink, Buck.” He grins. “What’s it gonna be?”

Bucky sighs. Says, “It was last year. As far as I knew everyone had been asleep. Gone to bed, at least. But I was wrong and my mom walked in when I was… y’know.”

“Oh my god.” Steve laughs and only makes Bucky blush harder. “Aw, you poor thing.”

The sympathy in Steve’s voice, Bucky thinks, is real. Yes, he’s laughing, but he also feels bad that it happened. 

“My turn,” he says, but Steve hardly looks worried. “What’s something you did drunk that you’d never do sober?”

“Mm.” He, however, doesn’t have an answer right away and has to think about it. “I, uh, I did suck on someone’s toes once. Not something I’d do when sober. Just not my thing.”

They continue to trade questions like that even after their meals come. The first time Bucky drinks is on Steve’s third question, asking Bucky what kinds of sex toys, in any, he has. While Bucky actually _does_ have a few, the fact that he has any at all is not something he’s ready to say. Steve’s takes a lot longer to take a drink and it happens when Bucky asks if he could go back in time and do something different what would it be. Before getting to that one, though, he answered them one by one without batting an eye.

So some of the new things Bucky knows are that Steve’s worst habit is picking at scabs, he would rather spend a day naked instead of having his thoughts appear in bubbles over his head, he sometimes sucks his thumb, that he lost his virginity when he was sixteen to a girl from their school -- he drank when Bucky asked who -- and that the last time he wet the bed was when he was twelve. 

Bucky doesn’t know when the last time he cried was or the biggest lie he’s ever told. 

After Steve’s first few questions, they get a little easier. Bucky tells him that he’d rather watch a sex scene with his parents than have them see his browser history, no he wouldn’t trade any of his siblings for a millions dollars, he does talk to himself in the mirror, and yes, he does cover his eyes during scary movies. 

Some of the things Bucky does _not_ tell him are: who he likes better between Clint or Natasha -- because there is no answer -- who the last person was that he thought of while in the shower -- which was Steve -- or the last person he missed so much that he cried over it -- which was also Steve. 

All in all, Steve’s answered far more questions than Bucky and Bucky doesn’t have to pee, yet, but his eyes keep shifting to where the bathrooms are. 

But he’s enjoying himself and having a great time laughing with Steve that he certainly doesn’t expect the question he gets hit with just after they get the check. 

“Where do you _really_ wanna go to school, Bucky?” Steve asks. 

Face falling, Bucky would say his normal, expected answer in a heartbeat, but Steve asks this question so softly, almost delicately, that instead of saying anything, he takes another drink. Steve just nods to that and clearly won’t push the issue.

As Bucky puts his glass down, however, he says, softly, “I don’t wanna go to Harvard.” 

Finally, Bucky can breathe a little under this mountain of pain. Admitting that is like letting go of one of the weights that’s been tied around his ankles since he can’t remember when.

He knows what he’s supposed to do. What’s expected of him. The plan that he’s had since middle school and he can’t stray from that plan, he can’t fuck it up he just can’t. Not only does his future depend on it but if he can’t imagine being his parents _disappointing_ gay son. 

Gay son is one thing. He’s pretty sure he can handle that and his parents will accept and still love him just as much as when they thought he was their straight son set to carry on the Barnes’s name. But he knows they won’t accept failure. 

Bucky can’t fail. 

When Steve’s hand slips over his, Bucky realizes that the sudden stinging in his eyes is from stupid, unwanted tears. He sniffles and quickly wipes them away. 

“Yeah,” Steve says. “I kinda had a feeling.”

“I dunno what to do,” he whispers, turning his hand and cupping it with Steve’s.

“Don’t go.”

Bucky scoffs a laugh. “I have to go.”

“No. You don’t.” 

“Yeah. Yes, I do.” Bucky’s chest feels too tight. “I _have_ to go to an Ivy League school, it’s not up for debate. If I don’t on _top_ of being _gay_?” He shakes his head. “No. No, they just… I _need_ to stay on track. Everything has to be perfect or I’ll just be their huge disappointing son.”

Steve’s eyes are soft and open. Calm, if not filled with sympathy and the need to make Bucky feel better.

“You don’t know that.”

“Look, Steve, you don’t get it, okay? Your mom isn’t…”

As soon as the words slip out of his mouth Bucky wants to take them back. A tiny gasp gets trapped in his throat. Eyes wide, he gapes at Steve as Steve pulls back and lands roughly against the back of his seat. 

Rather than looking angry, though, he kinda looks like he’s just been punched in the gut. Fiddling with the piercings in his lip and then scratching the one by his eyebrow, he looks away from Bucky. 

“I’m… I’m so sorry, Steve,” Bucky whispers. “I wasn’t thinking. I shouldn’t’ve--”

“You’re right,” Steve interrupts, still gazing at something on the floor. Or looking past the floor at things Bucky can’t see. “I don’t get it.” He looks up again, his face struggling to remain even and calm. “My mom would’ve just wanted me to be happy. She’d’ve supported whatever I wanted to do as long as I wasn’t hurting anyone.” Steve sorta chuckles. Sadly. “Even at ten years old I knew that. Or, I dunno, maybe I didn’t then but, like I said, she did bestow upon me as much wisdom and advice as she could. So, you’re right, Bucky. If my mom was still here, I wouldn’t feel this sort of pressure from her. And I’m sorry that your parents make you feel like you need to be perfect.” 

Steve’s leaned forward and placed his hand over Bucky’s again. Bucky’s throat hurts. He wants to say something kind back to him. Thank him for being supportive and encouraging for something he hasn’t told a soul. Not even his two best friends. But there’s only one thing that his brain provides him with and he’s not sure if it’s allowed, but he gives it a shot anyway.

“I’m sorry your mom’s not here to support you.” Bucky tries to offer a supportive smile. “We can talk about her, you know. If you ever want.”

There’s a tentative pull at Steve’s mouth and his eyes drop to the table a second after Bucky says this. He doesn’t really respond to it either. Instead, he changes the topic altogether. 

“Will you come with me somewhere?” he asks, almost shy and timid, and shy and timid Steve is still just as adorable as ever. “I wanna show you something.” 

“Okay,” Bucky whispers, and as they’re getting up to leave he asks, “Wait, before we go, can I ask one more truth or drink question?”

“Well, you lose no matter what anyway. So.” Steve chuckles and gestures to him. “Sure. Have at it.” 

Bucky hesitates, but he figures this might be a good shot at finally getting the full truth to one question Steve hasn’t ever answered with any detail. 

“What happened to you _right_ after your mom died?” he asks. “Where’d you go then?”

For a second, just a heartbeat, Bucky thinks Steve is finally going to answer. He shifts a bit and even opens his mouth like he means to. But in the end, he closes it around his straw and takes his final drink. 

***

Bucky honestly has no clue where they’re going and they’ve been walking a good twenty minutes already. No matter how many times he’s asked Steve where he’s taking him, he just smiles and tells him that he’ll see. While they’re walking, very close to each other, the back of Steve’s hand brushes up against Bucky’s. 

At first, Bucky figures it’s just an accident. They’re standing side by side and it’s Friday so plenty of people are out. After it happens a few times, he realizes that every time it happens, Steve’s hand lingers near his. When Bucky musters up the courage to turn it and open his fingers, Steve, still looking straight ahead, smiles, slipping their hands together. 

Maybe it’s just a silly thing. Something middle schoolers get excited about and call it first base. So maybe Bucky’s head is stuck somewhere in middle school right now because holding hands with Steve as they walk not only makes him blush but he feels downright giddy. 

When Steve leads them down a dark alley, though, Bucky has to question even further where he’s being taken to.

“Okay, what’s going on?” he asks. “Are you gonna bringing me here to murder me?”

Steve turns a smartass grin at him. “If I was, I certainly wouldn’t tell you.” 

He lets go of Bucky’s hand then and starts climbing up on the dumpster in the middle of the alley. Bucky’s eyes go wide. He has no idea what he’s doing.

“Steve!” he says through his teeth. A loud whisper since he both wants to yell at Steve for climbing up there and not be heard by any passersby either. “What’re you doing; get down from there!”

The sounds of Steve’s feet echo across the top of the dumpster. Doesn’t sound like there’s too much in there. They sound even louder when he turns around with a big smile on his face. Like Bucky scolding him is amusing.

“Why’re you whispering?” he asks. “There’s no one else here.”

“Yeah, but-- oh my _god_ , Steve! Don’t!”

His heart, beating a mile a minute, plummets to his stomach when Steve leaps off the dumpster and grabs onto the bottom rung of the pull down ladder on the fire escape attached to the building they're standing next to. Steve dangles from it for about a second before he gives it a tug and it drops down. He lands on his feet and staggers back just a little but remains upright when the ladder comes all the way down. 

Hand at his throat because holy shit that shit was terrifying, Bucky has trouble remembering that he needs to breathe. It takes him a longer moment than he cares to admit to exhale. 

“W-why did you do that?” Bucky’s voice is shaky. He loses another year of his life when Steve starts climbing _up_ the ladder. 

“I didn’t pull it down for nothin’,” Steve says with a laugh in his voice. “Gotta go up to the second floor.” 

“Up _this_ way?” Bucky needs to look up since Steve’s already reached the first landing. “I… I c-can’t.”

Steve’s got his arms resting over the railing as he looks down with a smile on his face. Even from the ground, Bucky can see his eyebrows flick up.

“What’s the matter? Scared?”

“I prefer it when my feet are on the ground, yes.”

“Don’t be scared, I do it all the time.”

Bucky rubs between his eyes. “That doesn’t help.” 

“C’mon, Buck.” He makes a fist and pumps it in the air like he’s trying to be encouraging. “Face your fears! Edward did it!”

There’s only one Edward that Bucky can think of and he knows it’s totally ridiculous, but they don’t go to school with anyone with that name so he just says it.

“Cullen?”

Which, of course, makes Steve snort a laugh. “I don’t think Edward Cullen particularly minded heights. I was thinking more along the lines of Richard Gere and Julia Roberts.” 

“Ah. Pretty Woman. Gotcha.” 

When Bucky doesn’t budge, Steve’s shoulders fall with a sigh and a little pout. “Okay, okay. You win. I’m comin’ down.”

He starts to, too. Even though he wants to show Bucky something up there on the second floor and it sounds like it means a lot to him but he’s still coming down because Bucky’s afraid to go up there. 

“No, wait.” Bucky takes in a deep breath and steps up to the ladder. “Just… gimme a minute.” 

His hands curl around one of the rungs just a little higher than him. Eyes closed, he swallows and starts up the ladder. He goes slow. One step at a time. This is so much easier on a rollercoaster like the Cyclone or something. At least then, he can keep his eyes closed the whole time to pretend it’s not happening and then it’s over in a minute, and on a rollercoaster, that minute is fun. 

“You’re doin’ great,” Steve says from above. “Just don’t look down.” 

“That’s _really_ not helpful.”

Steve chuckles. “Sorry.”

After an eternity of climbing, Bucky’s hand touches the landing. Not even a second later, something warm and soft takes hold of it. 

“I gotchya, Bucky,” Steve says. “I won’t let you fall.” 

Eyes slowly opening, Bucky looks up into Steve’s precious eyes and know he means that with all his heart. Steve helps him the rest of the way. When he gets up there, they’re so close to each other that Bucky can feel Steve’s breath hit his collarbone. 

“Hello,” Steve greets. “Welcome. Wanna get off this thing?”

“Yes, please.” 

Still holding his hand, Steve snickers and slides the window they’re next to open. With Steve’s help, Bucky follows him through the window. He’s not really sure what he expected and he’s not even really sure where it is he’s been taken but it’s a big room with brick walls and an industrial looking ceiling and there are two long wooden tables that run across it. There’s artwork on the walls too and stacked shelves of art supplies so Bucky suspects this is an art place, he’s just not sure what kind.

“Where… where are we?”

“It’s an art studio,” Steve says. “They give private and group art lessons or music lessons. People have art parties here for kids or even private parties for just about anyone.” He’s walking toward the back of the room and still talking. “People rent the space to rehearse. That sorta stuff.”

“And what does this have to do with you?”

“I work here,” he replies, “Twice a week after school.” His voice turns sour when he adds, “I earned the _privilege_ to get a job.”

“You’re not allowed to just get a job?”

“Nope.” Steve opens a closet now and pulls the chain on the hanging light to turn it on. “They got a tracker on my phone, too. I gotta be available whenever I’m not there. Took me nine months to earn leisure time outside of the house.”

He crouches down and moves a few boxes around until he finds what he’s looking for. A milk crate.

“And if you get in any trouble they’ll send you away again?”

Steve nods but is more focused on looking through the crate full of portfolio folders. While he’s preoccupied, Bucky just stands there quietly. Thinking. No wonder Steve been so prickly these last few years. He’s had so much hanging over his head.

When Steve stands again, he’s got one of those portfolios in his hands. He stands next to Bucky and opens it. Inside, like Bucky expected, are sketches. But they’re simply breathtaking. Steve holds it out for him to take and Bucky can barely keep his eyes away from the first drawing there before turning to the next. 

They’re of so many different things. There’s faces and skulls and butterflies. Flowers and animals. Every single one of them has so much detail they practically leap off the page.

“Steve,” he whispers. “Did you do these?”

“Mhm. I gotta get a portfolio together if I’m gonna get an apprenticeship.” 

“An apprenticeship?” 

“If I’m gonna be a tattoo artist, that’s how I gotta do it. Find an established professional to take me under their wing sorta. Then I can get my license.” 

Well, if Steve needs to impress someone with his art, Bucky can’t imagine anyone that would turn him away. Of course, he’s no artist and might be biased but all of these are just brilliant. 

“So, wait,” Bucky says. “Then what’re the paintings you did for?”

Bucky says nothing about the portrait of him he said he was gonna do. If Steve’s changed his mind about it, he doesn’t want to make any unnecessary awkward comments. 

“Ah.” He nods. “That’s to hopefully get into a summer art program at Brooklyn College.”

“They’d be stupid not to take you. I think these are completely amazing.”

“Yeah?” Steve smiles as he takes the portfolio back and puts it away. “I think that’s cause you kinda like me.”

“I mean, yeah,” he says, taking Steve’s elbow as he stands again. “I do like you. A lot.”

Steve hasn’t turned yet, and when he does, it looks like he’s about to say something but gets thrown off by their closeness. Their chests are skimming. Steve needs to look up slightly too and Bucky fixes his gaze on those precious blue eyes. He licks his lips. He’s not sure, but he thinks Steve’s follows in suit. 

They lean in for each other. Slowly. Bucky can hear nothing but the pounding in his ears. Sure, they’ve kissed before. Just yesterday. But there’s something different about the lead up to this one. Almost as though it’s their first. 

Maybe, in a way, it is. Yesterday had been spontaneous. Just impulse and desire. Tonight, tension sings in the air. It crackles through the small space between them. Steve’s eyes fall closed as he slowly lifts himself onto his toes. Bucky’s do, when their lips just brush together. 

“Hey! Who’s in there?!”

Steve and Bucky jerk away from each other, fear spiking through Bucky’s veins. He gasps, flinging his gaze toward the sound of the voice that’s yelled out in the hall.

“ _Shit_ ,” Steve mutters, turning out the light and grabbing Bucky’s wrist to pull him back to the window. “Time to go.” 

Sure he’s about to be arrested and hauled to jail and then be forbidden to _ever_ see Steve again, Bucky follows Steve out the window. As Steve is shoving it closed, Bucky hurries down the ladder, more terrified of being flung in a jail cell for the night than not having his feet on the ground just yet. 

The second he’s back on the dumpster, Bucky back peddles a bit to help Steve get down quicker. They hop off the dumpster and Steve leads the way further into the alley, telling Bucky to hurry up and follow him. Bucky thought it would be better to run back out to the sidewalk, but he follows Steve anyway and they end up behind the bar that’s next to the building they’ve just run out of. 

Cigarette butts litter the ground and there’re a few recycling bins against the metal fence that blocks them from going any further. Music from the bar makes the brick wall vibrate a little and Bucky can hear the low murmur of talking and people playing pool. 

Even though he keeps peeking around the corner, certain they’ve been followed, Steve cannot get a grip. He’s laughing so hard that he’s got his arms wrapped around his sides like they’ll split if he lets go. 

“What are you _laughing_ at?”

“I’m… I’m sorry,” Steve gets out between laughs, clearly trying to calm down and unsuccessful. “Your… your face was priceless.” 

“You said you go there all the time!”

“I do!” he says. “Sometimes security comes around. I got you out of there, didn’t I?”

As much as Bucky wishes he could be mad about this, even just enough to scold Steve for putting him in a situation that could’ve potentially blown up in his face and mess everything up, he can’t muster up the proper emotion. Now that his heart is settling and his breathing slows, the amusement Steve finds in this makes its way into him.

Bucky’s never done anything like this before. Sure, he might have a couple of drinks at a party, but that’s pretty much it for living on the wild side. He’s always been too scared the break the rules. While he’s never been a goodie-two-shoe -- Bucky doesn’t point out that a teacher hasn’t collected homework or rat people out for cutting or has a need to answer every single question -- he doesn’t push his luck. 

This is crazy, though. Breaking into a closed building. Almost getting caught. Having to run and hide to avoid it. If his parents knew, they’d lock him in his room until graduation. There’s something fun about it all and when he looks back at Steve, he finds him smirking at him while leaning back on the wall with his foot propped against it.

“Kinda fun being bad, ain’t it, Officer Barnes?”

Bucky scoffs a laugh and steps closer. “Shut up, punk.” 

He doesn’t wait this time. There’s no build up. No hesitation. Bucky just walks over, captures his face between his hands, and kisses him. 

The act must surprise Steve a little. He doesn’t kiss back right away, but he straightens and catches up to Bucky quickly. His hands land at Bucky’s waist and draw him in closer. He’s smiling. Bucky can tell that much as he parts his lips and their tongues meet. 

They kiss like that for a few minutes, though, to be honest, Bucky could go on kissing Steve for hours. When they part, barely a few inches, Steve smiles at him and pecks the tip of his chin. 

Bucky whispers, “I like kissing you.” 

“Mm.” Steve closes his eyes and caresses the side of Bucky’s face. “I like that you like kissing me. I think you should do it again.”

“Oh, _yes_ , sir.” 

Shocking himself with the random honorific, Bucky’s mouth drops open like he means to explain himself. Only he can’t. Because he has no idea why he’s said it. 

But Steve only laughs and tugs on his shirt to bring him closer. “C’mere, _mon amour.”_

They resume their kissing with Steve pinned up against the wall and Bucky damn near boxing him in. Steve’s hands bunched Bucky’s shirt tighter, not letting him go anywhere. Bucky likes the idea of that. Of Steve taking hold of him and refusing to let go until he wants to. 

Bucky wonders if he’d be able to get Steve off. Not here, of course. Not in this back alley behind a bar. Someplace warm and comfortable. Cozy. The only place he can think of is his bedroom and while that might offer some warmth and comfort, there’s nothing cozy about it. He’s not even sure if he’d be any good at sex. 

“Bucky,” Steve says against his lips. “You’re thinking too hard again.”

“What?”

“We’re just making out. Stop overthinking whatever you’re thinking.” 

Pulling away with just his head, Bucky’s shocked that Steve knew that’s exactly what he’d been doing. His brain firing away too many thoughts at once when he should’ve just focused on the present. Here, enjoying himself with Steve.

“How did you--”

“You’re entire demeanor changed, Buck,” Steve says with a soft chuckle, shimmying Bucky’s shirt from side to side. “One minute you were hot and heavy and the next you were stiff and kinda unresponsive. What’s goin’ on up there?”

“No. No, it’s nothing.” Oh, _god_ , the idea of sharing what’s just gone on in his head is completely mortifying. “Just… thinking.” 

Steve’s eyebrows flick up. “You were thinking about foolin’ around with me, weren’t you?” 

He’s just messing with Bucky, Bucky knows that by the teasing way he says it and the silly look on his face. But Bucky’s face burns so much at the mention of that horribly accurate guess that he has no way to hide it. Doesn’t matter that they’re in an alley in the middle of the night, the light hanging above the back door of the bar reveals plenty. 

“Oh my god!” Steve laughs. “You _were_ , weren’t you?!” Bucky tries shaking his head and denying this but all that he can produce are sounds that keep getting caught in his throat. “ _Oh_ , you are so cute!” He brings Bucky closer to him again. “We can fool around. Whenever you want. You like gettin’ blow jobs? I’ve been told I’m pretty good at that.” 

“Holy shit, Steve.” Bucky buries his face in Steve’s hair. “I hate you.”

Steve shakes his head. “Mm-mm. Nope. You like me. You said it before.” 

More than like. _Way_ more than like. Bucky’s starting to believe he really did fall in love with Steve that afternoon in the back of his parents’ car. When Steve’d come along to his scholarship interview and held his hand and gave him a Band-aid to patch him up if he needed it. His heart sings with the idea of it. Of being in love with Steve. 

“Yeah,” Bucky murmurs. “I guess you’re right.” They’re gonna have to put a pin in this conversation for later. Because, yes, Bucky does want to fool around with Steve, and now that he’s mentioned giving him a blow job, that’s all Bucky can think about. “Um, y’know, Sam’s having a party tonight. Do you wanna swing by?”

“Um.” Steve checks the time on his phone. Frowns. “It’s almost nine-thirty. By the time we get there I’d pretty much have to head back. So…” He twists his lips a little. “But you go. It’s fine.”

“No, I…” Steve doesn’t want to go back, Bucky knows that much for sure. “I don’t have to go. But we can just… hang out some more? If you want. Maybe I can… kiss you again?”

Smile on his face, Steve has his arms around his waist when he looks up and rests his chin right on his chest. He snickers. 

“Of course, _mon amour_.” 

Bucky breathes out a giggle, flushing again, and just before he steals himself that kiss, says, “You’re going to be the death of me.” 

And he’s starting to think he might welcome such a death with open arms. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> Feel free to check me out on tumblr for more fun at [thebestpersonherelovesbucky](http://thebestpersonherelovesbucky.tumblr.com/) or pillowfort at [thebestpersonherelovesbucky](https://www.pillowfort.io/thebestpersonherelovesbucky%22) or twitter [thebestpersonherelovesbucky](https://twitter.com/thebestpersonh1)


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